


Vanilla and ginger

by Hotaru_Tomoe



Series: Bullets [12]
Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Background is deliberately vague, Blowjobs, Comedy, Erectile Dysfunction, First Time, Handcuffs, Jealousy, M/M, Makeup Sex, Misunderstandings, One Shot Collection, Phone Sex, Porn Video, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Soft Soviet Grandpas, Valoris, Vanilla, Wax Play, but AU for sure, cured by sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2020-09-27 01:10:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20399197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hotaru_Tomoe/pseuds/Hotaru_Tomoe
Summary: Boris turns out to be vanilla about sex, while Valery would like to add some spice to their relationship, but he has no idea how to tell him. When he finally hints at it, Boris becomes so nervous, he has a episode of erectile disfunction.





	1. Vanilla and ginger

Boris slips out of Valery slowly, causing him a faint whimper of complain, and sighs with satisfaction; he lies on him for a moment longer, as he brushes the sweaty hair from his forehead and kisses it, then lifts himself up on his elbows.

"Good?" Boris pants with a smile so proud that the  _ "yes?" _ implicit in his question is almost louder than his word.

Valery kisses the tip of his nose, "Good."

Boris rolls on his back and Valery tries to get up, but is stopped by Boris' arm.

"I do it."

Valery tries to argue, but he already knows it’s useless: "Borja, you always do it, sometimes I can do it too."

"No, you know I love taking care of you."

He kisses him again, smiling, then gets up and goes to the bathroom.

When the door is closed behind Boris, Valery sighs: Boris' excessive care is part of the problem that is forming in his head.

Valery wouldn't want to have a problem, because he and Boris have sex, they're in love, and it's beautiful.

Boris is a sweet and attentive lover, almost chivalrous in his daily gestures: he shields Valery from the rain when he forgets his umbrella (often), he offers him his arm on bumpy ground when he stumbles (almost always), he has virtually redone his wardrobe (a real improvement), he keeps the door open for him, and Valery can never pay for a dinner, Boris always takes care of the bill.

Valery has never received so much attention from a partner and this undoubtedly makes him happy, makes him feel appreciated and loved, and that's why he wouldn't want to have a problem.

Boris comes out of the bathroom with a damp towel and gently cleans him, smiling.

It’s an integral part of their routine, and this is the crux of the problem in Valery's head.

They have a routine.

They have only a routine, and they have never detoured from it: since their first time, Boris has undressed, then he stripped Valery and had sex with him in bed in the missionary position, Boris above him and Valery's legs around his back; then Boris cleaned him, held him in his arms, and fell asleep.

As if on cue, Boris brings the towel back to the bathroom, lies down in bed, pulls Valery to himself, kissing his hair and murmuring "I love you", and falls asleep almost immediately.

The first time was wonderful, the second and the third one also, but now it's a few months that they have sex and Valery would like some... variations of the script; not about their roles (he has always been an eager bottom), but about the positions and the locations of their intercourses.

Valery can’t deny to himself that his fantasies about sex with Boris were more... well, if not racy, certainly ample: he imagined hot blowjobs in the shower, furtive handjobs in the back of a military jeep, unbridled sex against the wall, being taken from behind on the corridor floor, some toys... in short, the joys of gay sex.

Instead Boris is really... really Soviet when it comes to sex, and not in the sense of revolutionary, unfortunately, but in the sense of gray and monotonous.

He gets up slowly so as not to wake him and goes to take a shower. He always feels guilty when he thinks about this problem he wouldn’t want to have, because Boris' tenderness and love make his heart burst, he loves him too with his whole being and would give his life for him.

Love is not the problem.

He just wants to get out of the box every once in a while, that's all.

Perhaps, he muses as he soaps himself, Boris plays the only role he knows, the one of the alpha male, and treats Valery as he treated his female mistresses (now Valery is a bit sorry for them, if this is the only sex they had with Boris), although Valery is not a woman.

Valery knows for sure, because it was Boris himself who told him, that he is his first man, so maybe they don't do anything different in bed because Boris doesn't know anything different.

Valery has more experience from this point of view.

It would be enough to talk about it, but it’s not that simple, and this is also part of the problem that Valery wouldn’t want to have.

When he comes out of the bathroom, Boris has woken up: he is sitting on the bed and looks almost disappointed.

"What is it?" Valery asks as he dresses quickly.

"You already took a shower. You could wake me up, you know I like washing your hair."

"And I like to have them washed by you, but I’m late, gotta dash to work," he bends over the bed to kiss him, "next time."

Boris takes his hand in his and kisses the back of it, "Have a good day, my love."

The other part of Valery's problem is Boris' ego.

It is extremely fragile, and Valery has no idea how to approach the subject without hurting him, because Boris is absolutely sure that he is giving Valery the best sex of his life, Valery understands it from the way Boris always says "good?" at the end of the intercourse. It's a question that already contains the answer, in Boris' head, and that answer is “yes”.

Valery seemed lost in thought when he left, surely he has some work problems.

The last thing Boris wants is for these worries to infiltrate their domestic happiness, he must keep them out of their home.

A nice present is what it takes to lift Valera's mood. Too bad it's not the season of red roses, otherwise Boris would fill his office with them, but a beautiful plant will certainly cheer him up, everyone loves plants.

In the afternoon, a delivery man enters Valery's office, carrying a beautiful anthurium plant, with a note: _ "To my favorite flower. With love, Boris " _

The delivery man has been biting his cheeks since he came in, in an attempt not to laugh: it’s clear that he read the note.

Valery can't even glare at him, because he isn’t entirely wrong: it's a sweet note, but it's suitable for a teenager, not for a tooth-gaped fifty year old man (however, he won't tip the delivery man).

This is a further confirmation of his suspicions: Boris behaves with him as he would behave with a girl.

It’s also his fault that he never said anything, but time has probably come to do it.

When Valery comes home that night, he finds a cake from his favorite bakery on the table.

Valery rubs his neck: Boris would be a perfect sugar daddy, if only he knew what a sugar daddy is.

Okay, it's definitely time to talk.

After a slice of cake, though.

Valery puts the fork on the dish, and begins cautiously: "Boris, I thank you for the plant and the cake, but you shouldn't have bothered yourself."

"Of course I had to!"

"No, all these gifts are wonderful, but they aren’t necessary."

"They are: you were brooding this morning, now you're not, so the gift worked."

"Okay, who put this idea in your head?"

"A old flame of mine. She had many flaws, but she was right about that: when a person is sad, you have to give her a gift to cheer her up. I would give you some necklaces or bracelets, like I did with her, but you don't wear them."

Valery is disgusted and enraged, thinking that someone took advantage of Boris' good heart to get gifts.

"Borja, I'm not your old flame."

"I know it! I broke up with her, with you it won't happen."

Hell, once that the hard shell is broken, inside Boris is made of sweet goo.

"Of course it won't happen, but I didn't mean that."

"So what?"

Valery sits on the sofa next to him and points to his own body: "I'm a man, a gay man, so I like different things."

"That's why I don't give you bracelets."

"No Boris, I'm talking about sex."

Boris' face takes on an alarmed expression, and Valery hastens to reassure him: "First of all, know that I love you and that having sex with you is wonderful."

Boris' chest swells with pride.

"Now, since we will be together for many more years, at some point we might try something different from what we usually do," Valery says, hoping he was gentle enough, but Boris' gaze darkens again.

"You just said that having sex with me is wonderful."

"Because it is, and also other things would be good."

"With your previous lovers did you do... other things?"

"Yes, I have a broad experience," Valery affirms, and awaits his reaction.

Boris doesn’t like talking about Valery's old flames: he knows they existed, but he becomes extremely jealous when Valery names them. And now he learns that he did other things in bed with them.

These "other things" are a vague and indistinct concept in his mind: Valery is his only exception to a life of heterosexuality, so he has no idea what else two men can do, he just did with Valery what he did with his previous lovers, and they were extremely satisfied!

If they weren't lying.

They weren’t, right?

However it seems that these "other things" are important for Valery: he must know them.

"Go ahead," he says cautiously.

Valery extends an arm and strokes his neck with his thumb, trying to put him at ease; he decides to start with something simple, a harmless fantasy: "I often imagines to surprise you, by coming to your office unannounced, then I kiss you, take off your tie and... we end up having sex on your desk."

"My secretary could come in any time!" Boris cries. If it happened, he could no longer work with her because of embarrassment, and Boris doesn’t want to change her, she is a very efficient secretary. But it doesn't matter to Valery, judging by the way he smiles.

"The risk of getting caught is the most exciting part of the game."

"Or you could tell me when you will come to my office, so I will give her the day off."

That's not how the fantasy works, but Boris doesn't seem to understand it, or he doesn’t appreciate it.

"All right," Valery sighs, "we stay in the bedroom."

Boris relaxes and smiles, and Valery brings his mouth close to his ear, as if to confess a secret: "When we are naked, I would like to feel your tongue on me. You could cover me with honey and lick it away, or just lick my skin. Everywhere," he suggests mischievously after a brief pause, and waits for Boris to work out the idea.

"Your neck?"

"Further down."

"Your chest?"

"Much, much lower," Valery kisses his ear, "my cock, my balls... hm... and inside my hole... you could torture me like that all night long, and I'd just beg you to not stop."

Boris is discombobulated: do people really do that? His Valery like that...? He had no idea, he didn't even know it could be done!

"What do you think?" Valery asks, resting his head on Boris’ shoulder.

"I don't know, it seems unhygienic."

"Obviously I would take a shower in advance." A certain degree of exasperation begins to leak from Valery's voice: the conversation is not going as he expected.

Maybe Boris just needs time to assimilate the idea: after all, it's new to him, he must be patient.

"Anyway yes, at first it seems indecent: one of my lovers spanked me when I asked him to rim me."

"WHAT?" Boris roars, grabbing his arms, "Did he hit you? Tell me his name, that bastard will spend the rest of his days in a hard labor camp! I'll cut his balls with my hands!"

"Boris, no: there’s a misunderstanding here..."

But Boris doesn’t listen and hugs him tightly: poor Valery, victim of an abusive man.

"You're safe now, that brute can't hurt you anymore."

Valery struggles free and when he looks at him he is really exasperated: "Boris, he never hurt me."

"You said he beat you!"

"No, I said he spanked me in bed. He was never too forceful, and I was consenting."

"What? Why?"

"Because I like it!" Valery takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers: the conversation was a complete fiasco, he should have settled for their usual Soviet sex without saying anything.

Boris looks at him as if he doesn't know what to do with the new information about him, so Valery thinks it’s better not to tell him about the handcuffs he took from Tarakanov's office.

"Look, forget what I told you, okay?"

Boris nods and gets up from the couch: "Er... it's late, I still have to pack my suitcase."

Ah yes, a business trip, Boris had mentioned it a few days ago. It's a good thing, to be honest: Boris clearly needs space and time alone to muse. And maybe, after thinking about it for a while, he'll appreciate Valery's suggestions.

Boris doesn't sleep that night and glares at Valery, who instead is sleeping peacefully. How can he sleep after the things he told him? Boris has just discovered that there is a realm of sexual acts that was completely unknown to him, while Valery has been wallowing in it for years.

Is Valery really satisfied with what they do in bed, as he told him? Boris knows that Valery would never lie to him, but if he talked about it, it means that something is changing: he is probably getting tired of Boris and his grey, dull sex.

He has to do something right now!

These and other thoughts torment him throughout the night; the next morning Valery behaves as if nothing happened, and kisses him, wishing him a safe travel, but Boris doesn't stop tormenting himself: was it like their usual kisses? Wasn't it a bit colder? Are they already drifting apart?

Needless to say, that day he pays very little attention to the business conference. He leaves the hall as soon as the last lecturer has finished speaking and, after walking around the city for hours, looking for a newsstand far enough from his hotel, he finally finds one with a decent assortment of gay porn. In the end he chooses a French one: usually the French make classy movies, it will be instructive.

He hides the videocassette in his briefcase and, once in his hotel room, asks for a TV and a VCR, then locks the door, pulls the curtains, and sits confidently on the bed with a notepad on his side: when he gets home, he will be ready for all the "other things" that Valery wants to do.

He plays the tape, but almost immediately he curses aloud: the newsstand man cheated him, that's not a porn, but a documentary on agriculture and cattle breeding.

In fact, there is a farmer, bare-chested under his dungarees, next to a machine, and he’s about to milk...

... not cows. 

And, for God's sake, what is the naked guy behind him doing with those ropes?

"Good grief..." Boris whispers with terror in his eyes.

An hour later he turns off the television, disturbed.

In that time he learned that:

\- "to be hung like a horse" is not always a figure of speech;

\- there are never enough men in an orgy;

\- he didn’t pay enough attention during the anatomy lessons at school;

\- apparently nothing is illegal in France;

but he would have preferred to bask in his blissful ignorance.

He would like to be able to rewind his mind like that tape and forget, because if it's really what Valery expects from him, he… he can't! First of all he doesn’t have that equipment, then, at his age, he can’t be expected to have the same flexibility. Furthermore, a garden shovel will never makes its way in his bedroom!

He looks at the videotape with hatred: he would burn it, if only the smoke wouldn't activate the hotel fire system (and he'd rather die than explain to the concierge what he set on fire).

He throws himself on bed, but the images he saw stay in his head and prevent him from falling asleep. Dammit, but he must sleep, he's been awake for more than twenty-four hours by now.

When he suffers from insomnia, he resort to an old trick: jerking off. Doing it a couple of times makes him tired enough to make him fall asleep, so he kicks off the blankets and pajama pants and slides his hands over his cock.

He closes his eyes and thinks of Valery, soft and pliant beneath him, of his freckled shoulders.

Valery sighing in pleasure, Valery...

... Valery who apparently loves pornfarm style performances and would like Boris to do...

Boris roars frustrated: he doesn't want to think about those performances or those sizes! He returns to move his hands on himself, but realizes with horror that nothing is happening.

Absolutely nothing.

His penis is still flaccid and unresponsive in his hands.

Of course, he thinks, he got distracted thinking about that damn video, instead of focusing on him and Valery.

He insists, tightening his grip and massaging his testicles, but after an hour the only result he has obtained is a crick in his wrist and a rubbing burn, but no erection.

Apparently his penis was more traumatized than him by what he saw, and raised the white flag.

Only metaphorically raised.

He panics: what will he do if he can no longer sustain an erection? What if he can't have sex with Valery anymore? Valery is already bored, if Boris can't offer him anything, it won't take long for him to find a young and handsome French farmer, after all Valery is still in his prime and said he had experience.

Damn French, it's all their fault! He must start a war, so they will invade Russia in winter again, they will be exterminated by the cold, and there won't be even one left to chase after his Valery.

The next evening, Boris has been standing in front the door of their house for ten minutes, but he still doesn’t turn the key in the lock: he tried to jerk off again in the toilet of the train that brought him home, and his penis remained once again tragically flaccid (to tell the truth, the people in the queue outside who knocked on the door didn’t help).

His cock is on permanent strike.

Surely Valery will want to have sex tonight, they always do it when they don't see each other for a few days, but Boris has to keep his secret, so he must make Valery tired enough so that he doesn't feel like having sex.

_ "This can work for one night, but then?" _

Boris shakes his head: he doesn't want to think about it now, there is a limit to the amount of panic he can handle at once, and that limit has already been exceeded.

Finally he opens the door: Valery is sitting on the sofa, already in his pajamas (bad signal) with the cat on his knees, and gets up when he hears him.

"Welcome back!" He greets him kissing him on the lips.

"What are you doing already in your pajamas? It's not even dinner time."

"I just feel lazy."

"Well, get dressed, we’re going out to dinner."

Having said that, Boris goes to take a shower and Valery frowns when he hears the key turn: has Boris locked himself in the bathroom? Why?

It seems odd, Boris didn't even bring him a souvenir from the trip. 

But he was the one who told him that there is no reason to always give him a gift, so Boris simply listened to him, even though Valery was used to get always something.

"Make a decision, Legasov," he mumbles, taking off his pajamas.

But it’s not just the lack of a gift, there is something wrong with Boris: during dinner he’s strangely taciturn, and a couple of times he doesn’t answer to him.

Leaving the restaurant, Valery is about to ask him what's bothering him, when Boris hears music in the distance: "Ah, there's a show in the square, let's go and see!"

"Actually…"

"It’s cool, let’s go!"

To be honest, Valery hates confusion and crowded places, because he always bumps into someone, and he detests jostling to make his way among the people.

And Boris knows it.

Furthermore, the show isn’t nice. They are only a small group of lame street performers: jugglers who constantly lose their tools, clowns who don't make people laugh, and two poor dogs who haven’t seen a bucket of water for too long time.

Pathetic.

After half an hour Valery pulls the sleeve of Boris's jacket.

"What is it, do you want to go somewhere else? To dance?"

"No, I want to go home."

"Are you sure? It is still early."

"No, it's almost midnight, I'm cold, my feet hurt and I'm tired."

"Perfect! I mean... yes of course, let's go."

"Boris, can you explain what is wrong with you?"

"Absolutely nothing."

Valery shakes his head, but follows him: he doesn’t want to argue with him on the square, he will try to understand more once at home.

As soon as they are in, Boris goes to the bar and pours two glasses of vodka for himself: it’s too much even for a drinker like him, at that time of night, and he seems very nervous.

_ "Okay," _ Valery thinks _ , "let's see if I can make him relax." _

He toes off his shoes, takes off his jacket and tie, and looks at him: "Shall we go to bed?"

Boris pours another glass and smiles nervously.

Valery starts to unbutton his shirt and stops halfway: "Do you want to end the job?"

"I... well... actually... I have a headache."

Headache?

But he wanted to go to the disco just few minutes ago! It’s only an excuse, a pathetic and obvious excuse, among other things. That's why Boris dragged him around the city, he didn’t want to have sex with him!

"Fine, good night!" He hisses angrily, and marches towards the bedroom.

Boris looks down at his glass, sighs and empties it into the sink: it went even worse than he thought.

Valery is turned on his side, lying on the edge of the bed, and pretends to sleep when Boris comes in, but inside himself he is fuming: not only Boris didn’t spare a thought about the things that Valery said two days ago, but now he doesn't want to have sex with him.

Headache! Unbelievable!

Maybe Boris isn't afraid to try new things, maybe he doesn't want to try them. Yes, it must be like that: the idea of doing something really gay in bed disgusts him, maybe they always have sex like that because inside himself Boris would like Valery to be a woman.

After their first time, Boris told him that he has no problem with Valery being a man, but maybe he lied: after all, that's what bureaucrats do, isn't it?

He feels tears pinch his eyes and squeezes them hard: what can he do? He loves Boris, he doesn't want to lose him.

Boris turns off the light, lies down next to Valery with a heavy sigh and stretches out a hand towards him, almost touching his hair: he loves Valery, he doesn't want to lose him, but he has no idea how to keep him.

Finally he gives up, closes his hand in a fist and lies down on his side too.

Valery seems to feel it, the ghost of a caress on the head, but nothing happens, so he thinks he imagined it.

The next morning Valery wakes up to the sound of water flowing in the shower, and at this point he is outraged: not only Boris didn’t ask him to take a shower together, like he always does, he didn't even wake him up with a good morning kiss!

Since he needs the loo, he goes in without knocking and lifts the toilet lid.

"Valery, is it you? What are you doing here?” Boris asks from behind the curtain in a high pitched voice.

"Until proven otherwise, this is my home, too."

"Couldn't you wait? I'm almost done."

"I never waited, what has changed?"

"Nothing, nothing has changed."

"Liar!" Valery hisses, and Boris turns off the tap with a heavy sigh.

"Valery..."

"Just tell me this, Boris: have you ever loved me?"

When Boris moves away abruptly the shower curtain he is so furious that Valery jumps back. He is also deeply hurt, to the point that Valery would like to erase what he said.

"You know it Valery, you know that I love you more than my own life!"

"Well, then you have to accept this," Valery replies, taking off his pajamas and remaining naked in front of him: "I am a man, not a woman!"

"And I'm not a French pornstar, I can't do those things! I can’t do anything anymore now!" Boris realizes what he said only when the words have already left his mouth, and he bleaches in shock.

Valery frowns, confused: "What?"

Boris walks past him and exits the bathroom, but he doesn't go far: he sits on the edge of the bed, heedless of water drops wetting the sheets and the mattress, with his hands in his lap: his secret is revealed, now Valery knows that he is incapable to satisfy him. How long will it take for him to pack and leave?

This time, not even red roses will hold him back.

He realizes that Valery is kneeling before him only when he feels his dry hands resting on his knees.

"Did you watch a gay porn?"

"Yes," he blurts out defensively, "You said you wanted to do other things! I had to know them somehow!"

"Porn is not a reliable source, it’s made by paid actors who follow a script and moan on cue, it’s completely unrealistic, and it doesn't work like that in real life."

That is true: no real farmer would neglect the fields and the cattle all day long for multiple orgies in the stable.

"You could have asked me, if you had any curiosity," Valery insists, stroking his knees with his thumbs: he understands that Boris is terrified and tries to calm him down.

Boris crosses his arms across his chest and looks away: "Well, it's useless now."

"Why?"

"You heard what I said before: I can't do anything, my cock doesn't-doesn't work anymore," he murmurs, closing his eyes. He never felt so humiliated.

"Oh Borja..." Valery whispers, touching his face with his fingers.

"Spare me your pity, please."

Valery kisses his thigh, then sits next to him.

"Look at me, love."

Boris will never be able to resist his plea, and looks at him: Valery is smiling sweetly, but there is no pity in his eyes.

"Do you love me anyway, even though I'm just a useless old wreck?"

What a wonderful man, his Valera.

"You're not," Valery chuckles, kissing his nose, "you're just overdramatic and, right now, very nervous about what you saw."

"You would be nervous too, if you had seen what was happening in that stable!"

"Probably. And then I hate farms, and even the French, to tell the truth. "

Oh, that's good news, at least he doesn't have to declare war on France.

Valery runs a hand through his damp silver hair and kisses him languidly, while Boris's arms tighten around his waist.

"I didn't even bring you a gift from the trip," Boris sighs, going on to kiss Valery’s neck, "do you forgive me?"

"I told you, I don't need gifts."

"But now they’re the only thing I can give you."

Valery licks his ear, not at all disturbed by the news.

"Would you allow me to give it a try?"

"Valera..."

"Trust me, Borja. There are only two of us here, no pornstars, no French farm."

Boris nods cautiously, and Valery kisses him again.

"Lie down on your side. No, not like that, diagonally across the bed."

"Why?"

"You will see."

Boris complies, and then Valery lies down too, but upside down, so that Valery's groin is in his face.

"This is called 69," explains Valery, stroking Boris’ pubic hair, "it allows you to practice oral sex simultaneously."

"I understand, I’m not that stupid," Boris grumbles, and Valery smiles again: if nothing else, he has managed to shake Boris from his state of dramatic despair.

"What do you think?" Valery asks, sliding his finger almost accidentally over his quiescent penis.

"It sounds complicated. I mean, don't you get distracted?"

Valery kisses the inside of his thigh, which trembles under his attentions: "It certainly requires a good dose of concentration and will."

"I don't lack them," Boris replies proudly.

"Want to try?"

Boris bites his lower lip, then nods. He copies Valery, digging his fingers into frizzy reddish hairs, tickling them, then caresses the smooth skin of the inside of his thighs, still soft and without wrinkles, so nice under his fingers.

He never caressed Valery’s buttocks from that strange position and wants to try, but is distracted by Valery's fingers playing with his foreskin, covering and uncovering the tip in a sensual caress.

"What about your concentration?" Valery teases, and Boris never backs off in front of a challenge: although he never did it, he opens his mouth and sucks the glistening tip of Valery's cock. His smell is pungent, his taste bitter, but for some reason Boris finds it very exciting.

Valery's fingers stop, and the satisfied groan that falls from his lips makes Boris extremely proud. Encouraged, he opens his mouth wider, welcoming the glans on his tongue, mindful to cover his teeth with his lips. The angle is strange, having Valery's cock in his mouth is even stranger, but not unpleasant.

Valery's hot breath is on his testicles, giving him goose bumps all over his body, and then Valery's tongue slowly licks him, from root to tip, dragging the foreskin back again.

Boris tries to stay focused on his task, sucking and tightening his lips around the crown of the glans, but Valery distracts him by tapping his fingers on his knee.

"Boris..."

"What is it?" Just when he was beginning to enjoy it.

"I thought you wanted to see this."

Valery has his fingers around his cock, proudly erect again, angry red and leaking.

Boris closes his eyes and sighs with relief, "Thank goodness."

"I told you, you were just nervous," Valery rests those beautiful, sinful lips on the shaft and looks at him, "What do you want, Boris?"

"Your mouth," he whispers in a rough voice, and immediately the warmth of Valery's mouth surrounds him. It’s different from when Boris is inside him, Valery's tongue does wonders on him, and Boris feels himself growing even harder.

Valery’s erection touches his chin, and Boris returns to devote himself to him, taking him deeper, but when Valery's glans touches his throat, his gag reflex is triggered and Boris must resurface to breathe.

"Help yourself with a hand to cover where you don't get," says Valery, and then shows him how, squeezing a hand at the base of his cock and sucking the glans again, hollowing his cheeks.

Boris didn’t imagine it could be so erotic: Valery's expert tongue causes chills all over his body, and when Boris massages his testicles, Valery groans around his erection, and the vibrations carry him dangerously close to orgasm.

"V-Valera..." he warns, but Valery shakes his head: "Let it go, I want you to come into my mouth."

Boris swallows noisily and takes Valery in his mouth again, but forgets to cover his teeth, and accidentally scrapes Valery's hard flesh.

The scientist cries, and Boris pulls back in alarm.

"Sorry!"

"No, no," Valery pants, his forehead resting on Boris’ thigh, "I like it. Don't overdo with teeth, but you can do it again."

He looks at him with feverish eyes, and Boris smiles confidently: "Am I distracting you, Valera? Where is your concentration?"

Valery laughs, out of breath: "Shut up!"

Boris sucks him again, using his teeth from time to time: if it's really the first time he gives a blowjob, then he's a natural born talent. Valery knew that sex with Boris would be a fantastic experience, he just needed a boost.

However, he wants to remind Boris that he is still the expert: he licks his frenulum, making him moan vocally, then takes him in his mouth again, and slips a hand behind his testicles, up to the perineum. He presses two fingers firmly to it, moving them in small circles, and suddenly Boris’ seed fills his mouth; Valery closes his eyes and swallows until the last drop, continuing to suck and lick.

Only when Boris writhes restlessly and whimpers because of the overstimulation, he lets him go and opens his eyes to look at him: Boris’ cheeks are red, and he is still out of breath.

Boris tries to remember if he ever had a stronger orgasm than that, but his brain doesn't cooperate, still too dazed.

But he has a job to finish, and he wants to surprise Valery too.

He takes him in his hand, while with the other he lifts a leg to reach Valery’s hole, and gives it an experimental lick. 

Valery curses aloud and his body tenses like a bow.

He really likes it.

Emboldened, Boris kisses and licks the wrinkled skin, and indecent moans leave Valery's mouth; finally he violates his hole, pushing his hardened tongue inside him.

"Oh god... Borja... aahh... AH!"

Valery convulses uncontrollably and his hot cum splashes on Boris's neck and chest.

Boris keeps moving his tongue inside him, and only when he feels Valery softening in his hand, moves away.

Valery crawls on the bed, throws his arms around his neck and kisses him, making him taste himself on his tongue, and this time is Valery the one who asks, "Good?"

"Yes," Boris mumbles, dragging Valery on his body. Valery was right: this is immensely better than a porn, it was an incredibly erotic experience that opened his mind, and now he wants to try everything.

"So," Valery ventures, raising his head from Boris’ chest, "did you like this "other thing"?"

"Very."

"Good, because I know acts and positions that will keep us busy for a long, long time," Valery murmurs, kissing his chest.

Boris smiles, stroking his hair. There is only one last small detail that he wants to clarify: "Valera?"

"Hm?"

"I never considered you a woman: I love you because... it’s you."

"I know. Forgive me, I said something really stupid before, and actually I love your attentions, gifts included." Valery says, caressing his side.

"Let's not think about it anymore. Instead, let's focus on what we want to do next time. Ideas?"

Valery jiggles mischievously: "Do you know the handcuffs that Nikolai can't find anymore?"


	2. Handcuffs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We had left Valery while he was confessing to Boris that he had taken a pair of handcuffs, now he has decided that it's time to use them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised months ago on Tumblr (sorry, I'm a very slow writer) I decided to turn this story into a collection of stand alone oneshots, all set in the same universe (an alternate universe not compliant with the TV series), to explore some kinks. I don't think it will be many chapters, maybe 4 or 5 in the end.  
Actually I had started writing another long fic (angst), but given the moment, the psychosis of the virus, and all the other ugliness, I felt the need to write something sexy but light, even silly.  
Hope you like it ^_^

When Valery wakes up, the other half of the bed is empty.

For days Boris has been reviewing important documents for a job assignment, and he’s barely sleeping.

Valery gets up and walk groggily to the living room; Boris is sitting at the table, writing down corrections on a sheet of paper, muttering curses against his assistant who wrote the notes, beside him a cup of tea long forgotten and now cold.

"Good morning," Valery greets him with a kiss on the neck.

"I wish it were," Boris growls, barely tilting his head.

Valery puts his hands on Boris’ shoulders, feeling that they’re terribly stiff.

"Why don't you take a little break? It would do you good,” Valery suggests, massaging his tense muscles.

Boris straightens his back and takes off his reading glasses.

"It's not a bad idea: I'm really getting mad, these notes are awful."

Valery's lips find that delightful spot beneath his ear, and Boris sighs loudly.

"Come back to the bedroom, and I promise I will make you forget everything."

Valery's words are a wonderful temptation, and Boris is torn between the urge to carry him on his shoulder and lock in the bedroom with him for the next two days, and the sense of duty that reminds him that the report must be closed and delivered to the sooner.

"Five minutes?" he bargains.

"Five minutes," Valery agrees, slipping a hand under Boris' dressing gown as far as it’s held closed by the belt, "in the meantime I'm going to prepare myself for you."

Boris groans, closing his eyes in front of the image that takes shape in his mind: "And now how I’m supposed to concentrate?"

Valery chuckles, satisfied, running a hand through his gray hair.

"Don’t be late."

Boris takes a deep breath to calm down, then puts on his glasses again and goes back to work on the report. However, five minutes become ten and then twenty, because he’s wasting time to decipher the horrible handwriting of his assistant, and correcting all the inaccuracies he finds.

When he arrives in his office, that lad will long remember his outburst.

"What do I have to do to detach you from that report, handcuff you to the bed?"

Valery's playful voice makes Boris turn; he’s ready to apologize, but what he sees leaves him speechless.

Valery is leaning against the door jamb, naked and hard, and a pair of handcuffs dangle from his fingers.

"What do you say?"

Boris swallows loudly: they talked about introducing some variation in their sex routine, and he has accepted to be guided by Valery, more experienced than he is, but he’s still slightly hesitant at the idea of trying something he doesn't know. It’s an uncharted territory and it isn't easy to let go for a man like him, used to planning everything and having always the situation under control.

But he trusts Valery.

He closes the report, gets up, puts the carefully folded dressing gown on the chair, and reaches Valery, who throws his arms around his neck and kisses him.

The cold metal of the handcuffs brushes against his back, making him jump.

"How…?" he tries to ask, but Valery's lips silence him.

"Let me take care of it."

Without ever taking his lips off his, Valery pushes Boris towards the bed, makes him lie down, takes his arms and raises them above his head, towards the wrought iron headboard, and suddenly Boris hears the handcuffs snap around his wrists.

"Done."

Valery raises his head to admire his work: Boris is tied under him with his arms slightly raised, completely at his mercy, and this alone is an incredibly erotic view.

When they have sex, Boris is a man with only one purpose: to reach the orgasm, and he dedicates himself to this goal with extreme determination, at the expense of foreplay, while this is an opportunity for Valery not only to make his fantasy come true, but also to show Boris the pleasure of slowness, without having to deal with the topic directly and provoke a crisis in his lover’s ego.

"Are you waiting for a written invitation?" Boris grumbles, confirming what Valery has just thought.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a short fuse?" Valery asks, but in front of Boris' shocked face, he hastens to explain, "I was talking about your patience, not this. I could never," he adds, grabbing his erection playfully.

"Hm... however I would ask you to keep that expression out of the bedroom in the future."

"At your command."

Valery jokingly kisses him on the tip of the nose, then brushes his chin and jaw with his fingertips, goes up to the ear and then down the neck, and finally bends down to leave a hickey on his throat.

He’s kneeling on all fours, close enough for Boris to feel the warmth of his body, but not so much so they touch each other.

Instinctively, Boris' hands jerk the handcuffs, making the metal rattle: his most impetuous side is protesting briskly, but there is nothing he can do, it’s Valery who leads the game this time, and he seems determined to drive him crazy.

Valery rests his lips on Boris' breastbone, while his fingers touch his armpits and slide down his sides, causing him to squirm. He isn’t particularly ticklish, but it’s as if the too light touch of Valery is triggering an itch that he can’t scratch.

Boris feels Valery's smile stretch on his skin.

"Are you having fun?"

“With a deputy minister at my complete disposal? You don't know how much." Valery's lips move imperceptibly on him: he seems intent on kissing and touching every inch of his skin.

"And you?" Valery asks, rising on his knees, "what do you feel?"

"I'm incredibly frustrated," he blurts. 

Boris shudders with the desire to throw Valery under him, touch him roughly as he always does, scratch the freckled and pale skin with his teeth, and squeeze the flesh of his buttocks until he leaves bruises. His hands tug at the handcuffs again, heedless of the metal that bites his wrists.

Valery moans slowly, as if he doesn't agree with his judgment, and starts kissing him again, moving his lips on his solar plexus.

"Frustrated or turned on?" he asks, then leaves a slow trail of kisses all the way to his navel, while Boris blinks slowly, reflecting on his words, and realizes that Valery is right. Usually, overwhelmed by his impetuosity, he wouldn’t even feel those light kisses, but now that he can’t move, he feels each of them deeply, almost under his skin, and his erection is dripping, without Valery having even touched it.

"I'm turned on," he admits in a sigh.

"But you would like more."

"Yes."

"This?"

Valery's warm breath on his skin causes him to shiver, then his lips greedily suck his nipple, biting it hard enough to make him start.

Pleasure and pain come together in an indistinct sensation in Boris' brain, who, tied as he is, can’t do anything, only scream and offer himself as a feast to Valery's hungry mouth.

Valery continues his torture made of light kisses, caresses and small bites, slowly ascending along his body, determined to bring Boris to madness, then kisses him almost brutally, leaving him shocked for the sudden change of pace.

"You should see yourself," Valery gasps, getting up on his knees again, "you're beautiful like this."

He takes himself in his hand, jerking off under Boris’ incandescent gaze, who tugs his wrists again, regardless of the burning, of the tense muscles of his arms and of the pain that dart across his shoulders. He is the one who normally brings Valery to the brink of ecstasy with his hands, and now Valery has deprived him of that right.

Valery stops and puts his hand on Boris' belly, feeling the muscles quiver under his palm.

"You look at me like you want to devour me."

Boris can only growl in response: it’s true, he wants that, he wants that with every fiber of his body.

Valery decides that he has teased him enough, therefore he positions himself, bringing one hand behind him to guide Boris' cock inside his body, and the other on his belly to hold him still, but once he is fully seated on him and has found the right angle, he leaves Boris free to rock his hips.

Boris plantes his feet on the bed and arches his back; the first push inside Valery brings him more relief than pleasure, but then he loses control so quickly that he is almost frightened: he didn’t imagine that being tied up would have sharpened his desire so much.

And Valery, seated on him, his mouth wide open in a delighted smile, trembling and sweaty, reddish hair falling on his forehead, is like gasoline on the fire.

It’s Valery who comes first, without even touching himself, and it’s so erotic that Boris follows him after a few pushes, and cries, overwhelmed by an incredibly intense orgasm.

It’s the same for Valery, Boris thinks with pride, because his partner almost falters as he gets up, and then he drops on the mattress next to him, with his eyes closed and an expression of profound bliss on his face.

"So, did you like the handcuffs?" Valery asks after catching his breath, stroking Boris’ sternum with his fingertips.

Boris needs more time to recover from his orgasm, but in the end he runs his tongue over his lips and sighs in delight: "Yes, although next time it will be better to opt for padded ones."

Boris' wrists are red because of the constant rubbing against the metal and now his shoulders ache from the unnatural position to which they were forced.

"Gosh... I'll free you now!" Valery sits up and his hands fumble awkwardly near the cuffs, while he mentally reprimands himself: he should have studied a more comfortable position for Boris before starting that game.

Boris can't help but chuckle: the orgasm was truly incredible for Valery, if he’s now trying to open the handcuffs without using the key.

"Did I burn some neurons of yours?" he teases.

"Just give me a moment, I'm looking for the button." Valery's hands slide over the metal without finding anything, "This is strange, the handcuffs I used in the past for these games were a little different."

"Valery, these are a military man's handcuffs." Suddenly, Boris' voice became very serious.

"You mean they don't have a button to open them?"

"So the prisoner can escape like Houdini?" he yells.

"Oh..." Apparently Valery made a small evaluation error.

"No _ ohs_. Just tell me that, with the handcuffs, you stole from Nikolai the key, too."

"There was no key..."

"Great!" Boris roars: he’s naked, handcuffed to the bed, and apparently can’t free himself.

"No, don't worry, now we solve it," Valery tries to placate him by placing a hand on his chest, then gets up and lights a cigarette, looking for a solution. 

He examines the headboard, a single piece of wrought iron without joints that can’t be unscrewed, then grab it and try to shake it, but it’s an ancient, solid and resistant bed and it doesn’t move an inch.

Maybe a saw?

No, it's too risky: the chain of the handcuffs is too short, he could harm Boris.

"What if we call a locksmith and cover him up with money to forget what he saw?"

Boris doesn’t speak but glares icily at him, and this is enough to make Valery give up that idea.

"Are all the handcuff keys the same?"

"Of course not! Each model has its own. Why, what did you want to do, stop a random cop and ask him if you can borrow the key?"

"It was a logical solution."

Boris glares at him again.

"Okay, but I'm running out of options here," Valery mumbles. "Can't you open them with a file or a safety pin?"

“From this angle? I don't think so."

Now Valery is also starting to get worried: Boris can’t stay in that position for long, he will have terrible cramps.

There is no other choice: he has to go into Tarakanov's office again and take the key of the handcuffs, he explains.

"Are you sure you can do it stealthily?" Boris asks, his voice doubtful.

"I took the handcuffs without him noticing, right?"

Actually they were thrown behind a pile of documents and when he put them in his pocket Nikolai wasn’t in his office, but Valery doesn't need negativity now: he needs to believe that everything will go smooth, and that in a hour he and Boris will be laughing at what happened.

He gets dressed quickly, but before going out, he puts another pillow under Boris' head to ease the pressure on his shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, "I haven’t done it on purpose."

Boris closes his eyes and sighs: “I know. Look, before you go, give me a nail file, I'll try to do something."

Valery puts it in his hand and kisses him on the forehead: "Don't worry, I'll fix this mess."

Valery held some training lessons for the army on how to properly store radioactive material, therefore his presence in the building where Tarakanov works is not suspect. However, at the moment the scientist feels like he has a giant flashing red arrow pointed at his head, which says: _"I am here to steal the key of the handcuffs and free my lover from an erotic game gone wrong" _.

The receptionist tells him that Tarakanov is on the phone at the moment: she will notify him of his visit as soon as the general hangs up.

However the minutes pass and the general is still busy. What on earth is Nikolai doing, declaiming the Karamazov Brothers on the phone for someone? Boris can't wait too long.

Valery has to get him out of his office with a ruse: if Tarakanov is called for a sudden medical examination, for example, he will stay away long enough to allow him to search around and find that key.

But first he must distract the secretary and have her removed from her position.

He enters the bathroom, checks that it’s empty, unroll the toilet paper, and throw it inside the toilets: he will use all the toilet paper in the Soviet Union, if needed. Then he flushes the toilets, causing them to clog, and the water overflows on the floor.

He runs back to the reception desk with an embarrassed smile: "Excuse me, but I'm afraid you have a big problem with the the water pipes, the bathroom is completely flooded."

"What do you mean, flooded?"

The woman runs to check the problem, and Valery sits at her desk, looking for the medical examination form on her computer. Once found, he prints it, hurriedly checking all the boxes, and faxes it to Tarakanov's office, then climbs the stairs and hides behind a column, waiting patiently.

A few minutes later, Nikolai comes out of his office with the medical form in his hand and scratches his head, perplexed, while calling the elevator.

This is the occasion that Valery has been waiting for: he makes sure that there’s no one in the corridor, opens silently the office door and frantically begins to rummage everywhere in search of the damned key, but it’s nowhere to be found and the more time passes, the more Valery becomes agitated: what the hell will he do if he doesn't find it?

Then he hears footsteps outside the door and starts: what? Is Tarakanov already back?

Luckily he has time to sit in front of the desk before the general enters the room.

"Oh, Professor Legasov, you’re here... the receptionist said you were was waiting for me in the entrance hall."

"Hm? No, no, I... I told her I was going up to your office," Valery stammers with a tight smile.

Tarakanov shrugs: "She probably got confused, with the mess that happened with the toilets." He sits and places the medical form on the desk with a frown.

"Any problems?" Valery wants to know.

Tarakanov rolls his eyes: "No, probably it’s the joke of some colleague of mine with a bad sense of humor: he marked me for a complete medical check up, including a colonoscopy. No, thank you very much,” he mumbles, shivering.

Valery curses himself: he checked too many boxes on that form.

"So, tell me everything, Professor."

"Tell you what?"

Tarakanov raises an eyebrow: "Why you came here, obviously."

"Ah, that..." Valery panics briefly: he hasn't even thought of an excuse. "I thought... the lessons I held here some time ago were useful for your soldiers, right? I could hold another one."

“Hm, it's a good idea. Let me check my planner to find a convenient day."

Tarakanov gets up to take the planner from a shelf and Valery notices the bunch of keys that the general carries hanging from his belt, which also includes a very small key, that of the handcuffs.

_"Here you are, you little bastard,"_ Valery thinks, narrowing his eyes: he must take it somehow.

He gets up and works alongside the general, looking at the planner with him.

Whenever Tarakanov proposes a date, Valery interrupts him saying he has another commitment; he’s trying to release the handcuff key, but when the general turns slightly, Valery's hand clumsily hits his thigh.

"..."

"..."

"... Professor Legasov, can I ask you what you are doing?"

Valery raises his hand.

"Here, how to explain..."

"You didn't come here for another lesson, did you?"

"Why do you say this?"

"If I called your department now, could anyone confirm that?"

"No," cornered, Valery gives up, "it's true, I'm not here for a lesson. I need the key of your handcuffs."

The general looks at him more and more confused: “To do what? I haven't found those handcuffs in weeks."

"Because I took them."

"What do you need a pair of handcuffs for?"

"For... for my closet!" Valery exclaims, saying the first thing that goes through his mind and taking the next few seconds to work out a excuse at feverish speed.

The poor general understands less and less, and looks at the scientist as if he’s in need of a psychiatrist.

A corner of Valery's mind records that he is a man of very little imagination, fortunately for him.

"Here... I found myself having to keep important documents in my closet and... um... I was afraid that someone would steal them, so I locked the closet handles with your handcuffs, because I don't have a safe. I'm sorry I didn't tell you but I was in a hurry back then."

"That is, did you hang the handcuffs on an ordinary wooden closet?"

"Yes."

The general massages his temples: "And didn't you think that a possible thief could have broken it with an ax?"

"Er... no."

Valery knows he’s coming off like a fool, but he doesn't care as long as Tarakanov believes his lie.

"So you haven't opened your closet for weeks?"

"Er... I had clothes outside, on a chair, I'm using those."

This isn’t entirely a lie: Boris always scolds him for using the chair in the bedroom as if it were a wardrobe.

The general shakes his head: he knew that scientists were eccentric, but not at these levels.

"Can I have the key, please? I need those documents now, and some clean clothes too."

"Yes, but I'm coming with you: I'll open the handcuffs."

"WHAT? Why?" the academician yells.

"That pair is almost broken, which is why I had discarded them: if you don't insert the key in the lock at a particular angle, it takes hours to open them, and you risk to break the key inside the lock. In that case it would be almost impossible to open them."

"No, I don't want to create any further problems or nuisances to you."

"It’s not a problem."

"Actually, you can't come to my house now."

"Why?"

"It’s... it’s that... there is the cleaning lady now, and she really, really hates seeing people and being interrupted when she works, believe me: she becomes unpleasant and unbearable when it happens."

“You should fire her,” Tarakanov suggests, “but I promise you that it will take me very little and I won't annoy her. Do we want to go?"

Everything that could have gone wrong has gone wrong, of course, and Valery now has no more excuses or reasons to refuse, he can only nod with a taut smile.

Boris will kill him.

"Just a moment... can I call home to warn the cleaning lady that we're coming?"

Tarakanov shrugs: "If you think it’s necessary..." He has now ceased to be amazed at the academician's eccentricities.

Of course it’s necessary, Valery owes Boris the opportunity to prepare with dignity for what is about to happen, if it’s ever possible.

Who knows, maybe Boris will find the strength to drag himself with the whole bed into the guest room and hide.

And ambush to kill him when Tarakanov is gone.

The phone rings, but nobody answers. It means only one thing, that Boris is still handcuffed to the bed.

The answering machine clicks and Valery starts to stammer pitifully: "Yes... um... hello, it's me. I'm coming home and... well, long story short, I'm not alone. General Tarakanov will also be with me, to open those handcuffs that... and I just... I couldn't tell him no. I know you don't like to be seen in... certain circumstances and I understand you, I wouldn't want it in your place either, but... it happened and... nothing, it was just to say that we are coming."

Tarakanov looks at him more and more bewildered: "What the hell, professor! Your cleaning lady is really touchy, if you have to justify yourself this way every time you bring a guest home."

"You don't know how much," Valery laughs nervously and follows him into the elevator.

While in the jeep, Valery desperately thinks of a way to buy time.

"Can you pull over for a moment?"

"Why?" the general asks, "we haven't arrived yet."

"Uh... I'm not feeling very well," Valery replies, rubbing his stomach, "maybe it’s something I ate."

Tarakanov hastily pulls over to avoid having to clean up the interior of his jeep, and Valery gets off, walking nervously on the sidewalk: this too isn’t entirely a lie, he really does feel a little sick because of the tension.

It's not about him: his sexuality has been clear to him since he was a boy and he doesn't care if someone finds out he's gay, but to Boris it's still new and he isn’t at all inclined to come out, in fact nobody knows that the two of them live together; he is also a public figure and this could create problems and embarrassments to him.

God, what a mess he made.

"Professor Legasov, are you feeling a little better?" Tarakanov asks from the driver's seat.

Legasov sighs and takes courage, getting back on the jeep: after all, he’s only putting off the inevitable.

Once he opens the front door and steps aside to let the general pass, Valery straightens his shoulders, ready to defend his relationship with Boris to death, but through the open door, he doesn’t see anyone lying on the bed in the master bedroom.

“That is the bedroom, isn't it, Professor? Professor Legasov, are you listening to me?"

"I... ah... yes..."

To his surprise, there is nobody in the room, and the damned handcuffs are resting on the dresser.

Apparently Boris managed to free himself: despair makes wonders.

Tarakanov looks at his handcuffs with a puzzled face: "Didn't you say you locked them around the closet handles?"

"Eh... well... apparently my cleaning lady managed to open them, before leaving."

"Strange woman," the general repeats, then turns to look at the closet, "but, if I may, Professor: you had a really stupid idea. Buy yourself a safe, rather."

"Yes, yes, I will."

Only a few seconds pass after the general leaves, when the bathroom door opens and Boris comes out.

His face is unreadable, but when he starts walking towards him, Valery steps back towards the wall and raises his hands to calm him down.

"Listen, I know you're furious, and you have every reason to be, but I swear I did my best to get the key without being noticed, it’s just that... well, I'm not a KGB agent!"

"This is painful clear," Boris replies dryly.

Valery lowers his eyes and mumbles: "I also tried to make Nikolai desist from coming here with an excuse, but you know I'm not good at lying."

"In fact, it surprises me that he didn't understand everything as soon as you opened your mouth."

Valery is with his back against the wall and Boris rests his hands at the sides of his head.

"I made a mess, I know, but in the end everything went well, didn't it?"

"Not thanks to you," Boris mumbles, but he doesn't seem really angry. His voice seems to say, _ "you are the usual walking disaster, Valera," _ rather.

Valery ventures to raise his eyes on him: by now he has learned to read his face and understands that no, Boris isn’t angry. Not much, at least.

Valery puts his hands on Boris’ still red wrists and massages them slowly.

"You could punish me if it makes you feel better," he proposes.

"Punish you, hm? And how, making you sleep a week on the sofa?"

Valery frowns: no, that's not quite what he had in mind.

"I was thinking more of corporal punishment," he murmurs hopefully, and finally a corner of Boris' mouth rises in a smirk.

"Why do I have the feeling that it would be more of an award for you?"

"Because you know me very well," Valery replies, standing on tiptoe to kiss him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Potter012 who gave me the helpful idea of adding a short PSA.  
Tying is cool if you and your partner are into it, but when your partner is tied up, you must be absolutely sure that you can untie the knots or open the handcuffs as soon as you are asked to.  
Be careful, don't be distracted like Valery  
XOXO.


	3. Candles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an ridiculous misadventure in Italy, Boris thinks he's about to gift his Valery with an unforgettable experience, but...

It doesn't matter that Valery told him that he doesn't want too many gifts: Boris won't return from his business trip to Italy without buying him something.

He would transfer the Colosseum to Moscow if only Valery asked him to.

However, for the time being, he’s just walking downtown, looking at shop windows in search of inspiration.

Then some loud shouts attract his attention: two men are fighting wildly outside some sort of club. One is holding a huge camera, the other, furious and red-faced, is trying to tear it away from him, screaming like a slaughtered pig.

Out of their screams, Boris can only understand the word "paparazzo".

The photographer struggles and runs away, but the other man doesn’t give up and runs after him, as if his life depends on it.

During the scuffle something fell out of the jacket pocket of the second man, and Boris picks it up: it’s a small black plastic rectangle, like a credit card, but it has no magnetic stripe, only a number on the back, while on the front it’s written in elegant golden characters,  _ "The Velvet Lotus - golden membership". _

Boris looks up at the club’s sign: it’s "The Velvet Lotus".

So that man came out of there when he was photographed by the paparazzo.

Since the two men ran away, who knows where, Boris feels obliged to give the card to the club: they will take care of giving it back to the owner.

It’s also the opportunity to show off the Italian he has learned recently.

He rings the bell and explains to the doorman what happened; the man listens to him, looks at the card, smiles, nods in an oddly winking way, in Boris' opinion, then moves, gesturing for him to enter.

Boris frowns a little, but follows him: maybe he has to give the card directly to the director of that place? Well, it’s right after all, it’s a personal document, it can’t be left in the hands of a common employee.

Boris is about to ask what kind of activity takes place in The Velvet Lotus, whether it is a restaurant, a bar, or a recreational club, since there is no indication outside and he didn’t understand it, when the doorman pulls aside a heavy black velvet curtain, introducing Boris into a large lounge with soft lighting, a stage, currently closed by a curtain, red leather sofas, low tables, and men.

Many men.

Only men, all poorly dressed and engaged in activities that, in Boris' opinion, should take place exclusively behind closed doors, in pairs and not in groups.

Oh.

Oh shit.

It’s a gay sex club.

If nothing else, now he understands why that man was so furious at the idea of being photographed by a paparazzo outside the club, but why did the doorman make Boris settle in? He just said he wanted to return that blasted card!

Or maybe his Italian isn’t as good as he thought.

"Sir? Please, come this way."

The doorman shows him a private room, and since Boris fears that, opening his mouth, he will only worsen the misunderstanding, follows him.

"You're Russian, aren't you?" the doorman asks, and Boris nods, without understanding the reason for that question.

"I guessed so. Very well, Sasha will be with you in five minutes."

Boris doesn't want to meet any Sasha; he pulls the curtains of the private room, regretting that it isn’t a reinforced shutter, then lets himself fall on the sofa with a disconsolate groan: how the hell did he get himself into that ludicrous situation?

It doesn't matter, now he'll take advantage of the low lights and the fact that he is alone, to sneak away from there and pretend that none of this has ever happened.

However, he doesn't even have time to get up as the curtain moves aside, letting in a very young blond man, who pushes a food trolley with a ice bucket and a metal cloche on it.

"Hello, I'm Sasha," the boy looks at him with an enticing smile, "and what's your name, sweetie?"

"Boris, but listen, lad: there is a big misunderstanding here, I don't..."

Sasha laughs, showing off a row of pearl white teeth: “Relax Boris, I am of age, even if it doesn't seem so: everyone gets scared when they see me for the first time, fearing they’re doing something illegal, but it’s not like that. Well, unless you want to, I'm open to almost everything."

Sasha's appreciative gaze runs along Boris' body, who flattens shocked against the sofa.

"So, do we want to get to know each other better?" Sasha continues, and sits on the sofa, sliding next to him.

Boris' gaze runs to the table between them: he is ready to brandish it like a lion tamer's stool, to keep that little nymphomaniac away.

The boy, however, perceives his discomfort and stops: "First time here?"

Boris nods.

"I see. And... from your attitude I would say that you are not out."

"No."

"Don't worry, I'll go slow."

Sasha starts to slide towards him again, but Boris leaps to his feet to keep him at a distance.

“Don't come near! I have a partner!"

Sasha looks at him, a little puzzled, without understanding why he gets so upset: "Like almost all men in here. Where is the problem?"

"I'm not like them, I love my Valery and I would never cheat on him!" he proudly states.

Sasha raises an eyebrow sarcastically: “Really, honey? Then why are you in a sex club?"

"It's just a fucking misunderstanding," Boris growls, throwing the black card on the table, "I was walking down the street, looking for a gift for Valery, when I saw a guy who lost this card during a fight with a photographer, and I just wanted to return it. I tried to explain it to the doorman, but apparently he didn't understand me!"

Sasha picks up the card to look at it better, then politely hides a giggle behind his hand: “Do you know what you actually asked to the doorman? That you wanted a memorable evening with the best the place has to offer, so you were brought pink champagne, oysters, and me, of course."

"I never asked for anything like that!" Boris exclaims, aghast, but Sasha simply shrugs.

“Then you should ask for a refund to anyone who gave you Italian lessons. However, since you’re here, take advantage of it: oysters and champagne are top quality, ideal for a romantic dinner. Then, I will take care of the dessert,” Sasha suggests, raising the cover of the cloche.

"No, have everything taken away!"

"Calm down Boris, everything you ordered will end up on the account of the owner of this card, it won't cost you one ruble, and I obviously won't say anything: it's your lucky evening."

"Don't tell me to calm down," Boris barks, increasingly outraged by Sasha's advances, "I don't want a romantic dinner with you, I want to leave! Just my being here is a betrayal towards Valery!"

The young man rolls his eyes: "Now you’re exaggerating!"

"It's the truth!" Boris insists, and Sasha suddenly becomes more serious, looking at him carefully.

"You really think so," he whispers, amazed by the devotion that Boris shows towards his partner: the men who attend The Velvet Lotus are very different, looking for just a few hours of fun and transgression.

"Of course! I told you, it's just a huge misunderstanding: I love Valera and I only want him."

Sasha's lively eyes soften, and Boris shrugs, almost embarrassed: “Why are you looking at me like this? I didn’t say anything strange."

“You’re an incredibly romantic man, Boris. I hope Valery knows how lucky he is."

Boris puts his hand into his wallet and hands Sasha some notes: "Help me! Get me out of this den of iniquity discreetly."

Sasha gently pushes his hand away: "I don't need your money, I've already been paid to fulfill all your wishes, so I'll get you out of here, if that's what you really want."

"Of course I want it, I've already told you."

"Is there really no way to tempt you?" Boris is in his later years, but Sasha wouldn't mind spending the evening with a man like that, he wouldn’t mind it at all.

"No." Boris' eyes are adamant, more than his voice.

"Geez, this is quite a blow to my self-esteem."

"No, no, you're very cute," Boris mumbles with unexpected kindness, "but you're not Valery."

"I understand." Sasha smiles and gets up, "Anyway, you shouldn't be such a prude in your judgments about this place and its guests."

"Do you want to tell me that it's not a den of iniquity?"

"I'm just saying that what's going on in a dark room in here isn't all that different from what you and Valery do in your bedroom."

Boris makes a face: “I don't think so. Valery would probably find normal what happens here, but I... but why the hell am I telling you this?" he concludes abruptly.

As before, Sasha senses his uneasiness and inexperience, but decides not to say anything, and Boris is grateful to him.

A loud moad, coming from behind the velvet curtains of the private room, tears Boris from his thoughts.

"What’s happening?"

"Nothing, it's just the 7 p.m. show."

Boris is afraid to ask what it is.

“To tell the truth, it will help you go out unnoticed,” Sasha continues, “nobody will be watching you. It really must be your lucky evening."

"Your concept of luck is a little different from mine," Boris mutters, but follows Sasha out of the private room in the main lounge.

The curtain on the stage is now open: there is a masked man tied to a chair, bare-chested and wearing leather trousers; another man, also masked, is pouring a few drops of melted wax from a candle on his chest. The man tied to the chair arches and writhes, and his obscene moans pour into the silence of the lounge.

Boris is rather confused: it should hurt, but the tied man seems to enjoy that torture, judging by the erection that stretches his trousers.

At his side, Sasha chuckles slowly, then whispers: "Wait for me here, I got an idea."

"No, no, where are you going?"

"Don't worry, I'll be right back."

Boris leans against the dark wall, trying to make himself as invisible as possible and to ignore the men who are openly making out on the sofas, as he waits for Sasha to come back. The boy arrives after a few minutes, offering him an elegant black shopping bag.

"What's this?"

"You said you were looking for a gift for your partner: this is a gift that you can use together."

Intrigued, Boris peeks into the bag, then closes it hastily.

"Are you out of your mind?" he hisses, glaring at Sasha: there is a large blue, unequivocally phallic shaped candle inside the bag.

"It's the same of the show," he explains, "the sensation of hot wax on the skin is very erotic, you could surprise your Valery with a evening different from usual."

Boris blinks and thinks about it: after all, it's an opportunity to show Valery that he's not that vanilla when it comes to sex. In his head appears the image of Valery lying on the bed, writhing as Boris pours drops of melted wax on him. Oh... oh yes, it's definitely interesting.

He discreetly adjusts his trousers and mutters a thank you, then Sasha escorts him out of the club.

"Here, you're safe," the boy jokes.

"Thanks Sasha... listen, did you say that everything I asked for is going on the account of the man who lost the card?"

"Yes," Sasha confirms.

"If he got so mad at that paparazzo for the pictures he took, it means he has something to hide."

"Of course! If he is who I think he is, that man has a wife and children, and is in the front row of seats in church every Sunday, praying against people like me."

"Well, then order something else for you from the menu, and put it on his account. I don't know, something substantial, like lobster with butter sauce: you're too thin, lad." Having said that, Boris walks down the street.

Sasha raises a hand to wave goodbye; as he watches him, a cloud of melancholy falls on him: who knows if he will ever meet a man like Boris in his life.

Once in his hotel room, Boris examines the candle Sasha gave him.

It was a nice thought on his part, but the candle itself is of the lowest quality: it’s greasy, slippery, it leaves oily residues on the hands, and doesn’t seem to contain wax at all.

And then people have the courage to make jokes about the quality of Soviet products!

No, he appreciates the idea, but when he returns to Moscow, he will buy a candle made with the finest beeswax: Valery deserves only the best.

His flight is delayed, besides Boris stops at the airport's Duty free shop to buy a candle for Valery, so when he arrives home, it’s already past midnight.

"I'm home!" he says, closing the door, but Valery doesn't answer. Only their cat meows, annoyed at having been awakened by Boris' deep voice, then curls up on the armchair and back to sleep again.

Boris puts the suitcase on the floor, takes off his shoes and walks to the bedroom: Valery tried to wait for him awake, reading a book, but it doesn't have to be a very interesting reading, because he succumbed to sleep, one arm stretched out to the side of the bed where Boris sleeps, who gives up waking him.

He smiles, undresses silently, takes Valery's book and puts it on the bedside table, then slips under the covers.

Despite the jet lag, it’s Boris who wakes up first the next morning; he gently strokes Valery's shoulder, who turns to him even before being fully awake.

" ‘mrning..."

"Good morning to you, Valera," he chuckles.

"Hmm, what time did you come back last night?"

"It was very late."

"You could have woken me up."

"No, you slept too well."

"But I'm awake now."

Valery opens on him his big blue eyes that sparkle with mischief, and Boris immediately claims his lips, but when Valery raises his pajama jacket, he stops him.

"Wait, I brought you something from my trip."

"Borja, you know I love your gifts, but is this really the most appropriate moment?" Valery captures Boris' hand, resting it on his groin, while he raises an eyebrow.

Boris closes his hand around his erection, and Valery moans, hiding his face on his neck.

“Actually, my gift is about this. It's... it's a kind of experience."

Valery's eyes light up with interest.

“You should go to Italy more often if it inspires you like this. What is it?"

"Undress, lie on your back and close your eyes," Boris instructs him, without answering the question: he wants it to be a surprise.

He gets out of bed to rummage in his suitcase, but at the last moment, he turns around and surprises Valery to look at him through half-closed eyelids. He knew it! He knows him too well.

"I told you to close your eyes," he scolds him, amused.

Valery chuckles, but this time he really obeys.

Boris finds Valery's lighter, lights the candle, and slowly approaches the bed.

Valery hears his footsteps and licks his lips: "Know that I am very, very curious."

"Now don't move," whispers Boris, who already foretastes his lover's obscene moans.

He lets the wax melt for good, tilts the candle to slide a few drops on his chest and...

Valery rolls out of bed, howling in pain, and runs to the bathroom to throw cold water on himself, leaving Boris momentarily dumbfounded.

What just happened?

"BRING ME ICE!" Valery yells.

Boris recovers immediately: he has the presence of mind to blow out the candle, to avoid having to manage a sore Valery and a fire at the same time, then runs to the kitchen, wraps some ice cubes in a tea towel and takes the bottle of vinegar, returns to the bedroom, puts his arm around Valery's waist and helps him sit on the bed, finally pressing the ice on his chest, where the skin is already visibly red.

"I'm... I'm sorry..." he stammers, still in shock.

"Boris, what the hell were you thinking?" Valery growls, hissing in pain.

"I don't understand, it shouldn't had to end like this."

"You poured hot wax on me, what else did you expect to happen?"

"Well... but... that man didn't react like that, it didn't seem to hurt so much."

Valery immediately forgets his pain, and looks at Boris narrowing his eyes.

"What man?" he asks in a cold voice.

"No, it's not what you think."

"What man, Boris?" Valery repeats, and so Boris can do anything but telling him what happened, word for word.

Valery looks at him for a long time, blinking slowly, and Boris gulps nervously: maybe he doesn't believe him? Yes, the story seems unbelievable, but it's the truth!

Then suddenly Valery sputters and laughs out loud, letting himself fall on the mattress, with tears running down his cheeks.

"Oh Borja... only you..." he hiccups with laughter, "could go by mistake... into a sex club!"

"I'll never be a good Samaritan again," Boris grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh no, please love, don’t ever change."

Valery puts his hand on Boris’ knee and strokes it slowly.

"Valera, I swear to you that nothing happened, I didn't even dine with that boy."

"Did you give up oysters and champagne for me?"

"Of course! It wouldn't have been appropriate."

"You're so sweet."

"Do you believe me?"

"Of course I believe you, love. Don't worry, it's all right." Valery moves his head on Boris’ thigh and kisses him there to calm him.

"But really, I don't understand, that man liked hot wax... does he have a skin made of asbestos?" Boris wonders, confused.

"Will you show me the candle that boy, Sasha, gave you?"

Boris rummages in his suitcase and then hands it to Valery.

"Be careful: I had to wrap it in a newspaper because it’s greasy and leaves stains everywhere, it’s really cheap quality."

“No Borja, this is a candle made especially for erotic games or massages: do you see how a very low temperature is enough to melt it? So it doesn’t burn the skin, unlike paraffin or beeswax."

"Oh..." Boris lowers his eyes, feeling really stupid.

"I appreciate the idea you had, but the next time you want to try something new, let's talk about it in advance, okay?"

“I'm sorry, Valery. I just wanted..."

Valery kisses him on the cheek, "I know, nothing happened, they were only a few drops."

Valery pulls the towel with the ice away: the skin is very red and it hurts a little, but he doesn’t think he will have a scar.

Boris soaks the towel in the vinegar and put it again on Valery’s skin.

"The vinegar will prevent the skin from blistering," he explains.

"We still have to work on the erotic games, but speaking of caretaking, you passed the test with flying colours," Valery says, placing a finger on the tip of his nose.

"I hurt you..." Boris murmurs, incredibly mortified by what has happened, but Valery doesn't want him to torment himself for an innocent mistake, so he kisses him with much more dedication, making his intentions clear.

"I'm sure you'll find a way to make me feel better."

Boris squeezes his buttocks and drags Valery over him.

"It will be my only goal for the day."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: exactly as the story says, if you want to play with wax, use **exclusively** massage candles, which are mainly made of coconut or almond oil, cocoa or shea butter and other vegetable substances that melt around 40° C - 45° C, therefore they don't burn the skin.  
Paraffin and beeswax, on the other hand, have a much higher melting point, which can even reach 80° C and cause painful burns on the skin: use these candles only to decorate your home or in the event of a blackout.  
XOXO


	4. Caught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boris and Valery live together, but nobody knows, so every time Svetlana, Boris' daughter, visits him in Moscow, the statesman forces Valery to pack and go to a hotel for a few days.  
Svetlana always phones before coming, but what if there was a last-minute change of plans while Valery and Boris are engaged in... recreational activities?  
(written on Potter012's prompt, who wanted Boris and Valery almost caught by a family member)

The phone rings and Boris answers dryly, "Shcherbina", but his voice softens immediately.

“Svetusha, my child, how are you? Sometimes you still remember your old dad."

Valery is reading a scientific article, lying on the sofa, and rolls his eyes: for heaven’s sake, Boris can be so dramatic!

It’s true that they don’t see each other often, because Boris’ daughter lives in Sweden, but they call each other at least once a week.

In Valery’s opinion Boris shouldn't make Svetlana feel guilty by playing the  _ "now that you're grown up, you neglect your old parent" _ card, but it's also true that he has no children, so he can't speak from experience.

After the usual ritual questions (how are you? Has my beloved grandson grown again? Is the work going fine?) Boris hesitates briefly.

"In two weeks? Eh... no, no, I'm in Moscow... okay... no, no, of course it’s not a problem. See you in fifteen days, then. Bye, give a kiss to the little Olegushka for me. What? Uh, yes, say hello to your husband too,” he mumbles at the end, without much kindness.

When Boris hangs up, Valery already knows what's going to happen, it's a movie he has already seen, but this time he will give his partner a hard time. He entrenches himself behind his magazine and says nothing, not even when Boris clears his throat to tackle the topic.

"It was my daughter."

"I heard," Valery replies dryly, "Are they okay?"

"Yes, yes, everyone is fine."

"Great."

"Um, Valera?"

"Yes?"

Boris moves slightly Valery's knees to sit on the sofa: "Svetusha will come to see me in a couple of weeks."

"So what?"

Boris sighs, lowering Valery's magazine and meeting his eyes, not particularly sweet right now.

“You decided to make things difficult for me, didn't you? To hold a grudge against me even if you know how hard all this is and how guilty I feel."

“I'm sorry, Borenka, but the card of pietism doesn't work on me. Actually, I don't think it works on your daughter either."

Boris then tries to calm him down, stroking his knee: "She will only stay a few days and I'll book you a room in the best hotel in the city, as I always do."

"This is not the point and you know it."

When they realized they were madly in love, Boris and Valery didn't waste time, they sold their apartments to buy one together, but they didn't tell anyone.

Caution is normal, in a country where a relationship like theirs is not illegal but certainly not accepted either; however many couples are out at least with their closest family and friends.

They aren’t, and this becomes a problem, because every time Boris' daughter comes to Moscow to pay a visit, Valery has to pack up quickly, move to a hotel for a few days and pretend that the two of them are just good friends.

This has been going on for more than a year, and although Valery understands Boris' fears, he is starting to get tired. He lives with Boris and intends to stay with him forever, therefore he thinks that Boris' family should know him no longer as  _ "Professor Legasov, my dearest friend" _ , but as  _ "Valera, my love". _

"I'll tell her about us, I promise you," says Boris, but this too is a refrain that Valery has already heard: sometimes his lover is a politician right to the core.

"This time?"

"Uh... no... not so soon, but sooner or later I will."

"Can I hope that it will happen in the next thirty years? Because you know, beyond that date I no longer guarantee my presence in this world."

Boris gets up and lets out a frustrated growl: “I would like to see you, if you had to confess it to a family member of yours! You talk like that because you don't have any."

"Yes I do."

Boris glares at him: "Your great aunt Inessa doesn't count: she is 95 years old, suffers from senile dementia and after a minute she has already forgotten what you said."

Valery grimaces and shuts up: Boris has a good point, in fact.

“A daughter is different,” explains Boris, “I have a new partner after her mother, besides he is a man! What do I do if Svetusha doesn't understand? If she hates me? She is my baby girl, I don't want to lose her!"

Valery rolls his eyes: Boris is not simply dramatic, he is dramatic on a professional level, he could give lessons about it

"First of all Svetlana is no longer a child, she is past thirty..."

"It doesn’t matter!" Boris interrupts him, "She will always be my baby girl."

“And in any case,” Valery continues, “she is the most open-minded person I know. She married a Swedish hippie!"

"You know I don't want to talk about this," Boris mumbles, his face darkening.

Actually, inside himself, he knows that Alexander is an excellent husband, despite his savage Tarzan-like appearance. At home he never spares himself when there are some chores to do, and he has never delegated the breeding of little Oleg only to his mother, in order to go around to have fun with friends, as many other men would have done.

However, this wasn't the kind of man he had foreseen as the husband of his only daughter.

"If there is a person who can understand, that is Svetlana," Valery insists, drawing Boris from his thoughts, "and then she loves you, she would never hate you!"

"I will," Boris promises, "I will tell her. I know how annoying this situation is for you, and I don't like knowing you in a hotel instead of here, in our home, but I need more time to tell her."

Eventually Valery gives up, because he realizes Boris is really afraid of what his daughter might think, and understands how difficult it is for him: his wife died when Svetlana was only thirteen, and Boris was left alone with the task of raising his daughter, it’s normal that he has become overprotective and anxious towards her.

"Okay, I'll go to the hotel," he replies, resuming reading his magazine, "but you're cooking tonight."

Boris frowns: "I cook every day."

"Yes, but now I can let you do it without feeling guilty," Valery says, and this time he just can't hide a smile.

"You..." Boris throws the magazine to the ground and launches himself on Valery with a playful growl.

About a week after this episode, Boris is pushing Valery against the wall, devouring his lips. It started with a few innocent kisses on the sofa, but the situation heated up quickly.

They reach the bedroom blindly and undress quickly; Valery lies down on the bed and lifts himself up on his elbows to look at Boris who is in his underwear, his erection tending the fabric.

"What do you have there for me, comrade?" he jokes, nibbling a finger.

Boris looks Valery in the eye and grabs his genitals.

"Something big."

"Hm, yes, very big. I want to take it." Valery touches his upper lip allusively with the tip of his tongue: "Come here." 

"What a dirty mouth."

"Silence me if you don't want to hear me speak."

Boris throws his underwear on the floor and crawls on the bed: "Get ready."

It took him a while to get used to a vulgar language in the bedroom, but now he finds it extremely exciting.

Valery grazes Boris' glans with his tongue, teasing him without haste: they have the whole afternoon and he wants to enjoy every moment; he slowly kisses Boris’ shaft, going down towards the base, until he reaches the sensitive skin of the scrotum, while his hands roam freely on Boris’ thighs and then grasp his buttocks.

Boris is always quick in congratulating Valery's backside, but his is not bad either.

Boris, kneeling on him, leans against the headboard so as not to collapse on him, and closes his eyes when Valery takes him in his mouth, his breath ragged, his thighs trembling visibly.

A curse escapes from his lips when Valery's tongue swirls around his glans, teasing the frenulum: he has a special talent for blowjobs and Boris is completely at his mercy.

"Yeah, like that, take it, take it all..."

Valery moans around his erection and that obscene sound pushes Boris dangerously close to orgasm, but unfortunately the mood is ruined by someone down in the street who is honking insistently.

If he wasn't so busy, Boris would throw a bucket of water at them to make the annoying sound stop.

"Yoo-ooh, dad, are you at home?" someone yells from the street.

Boris opens his eyes wide, terrified: it's his daughter!

"Valera... Valera, stop..."

But Valery didn’t heard him, and continues to suck his cock eagerly; Boris has to put a hand on his forehead to stop him.

"Valery!"

"What's up?"

"I heard my daughter's voice."

"It's impossible."

"Dad?" Svetlana shouts again, and Valery raises an eyebrow: “Oh, it's her. Wasn't she supposed to arrive next week?"

Boris jumps out of bed, frantically searching for his clothes.

"Shit, shit, shit! They have changed their minds at the last minute. It's fault of that hippie of her husband, who taught her a life without rules."

Valery starts laughing like crazy about the ridiculous and embarrassing situation: usually are the teenagers who have to get dressed in a hurry when they’re about to be caught by their parents as they’re making out on the sofa with their partner, not the other way around!

However, Boris doesn't share his humor: he's in a state of total panic and his mind is feverishly looking for an excuse to justify Valery's presence there. He turns to the bed to ask him for help, but sees that Valery is still lying down, naked and amused, and doesn’t want to get dressed.

"Clothes on now!" he yells, "Svetusha has the keys and will be here in a minute."

"I was thinking that maybe it's a sign of fate and we should tell her that we..."

"NO!" Boris interrupts him, screaming, “I said not now. Where the hell is my shirt?"

"On the chair," Valery sighs.

Boris jumps to get it, with his pants still rolled around his knees, risking tripping and falling on the floor; then he forces his cock, still erect, into his underwear, with a maneuver so abrupt that Valery winces in sympathy: that had to hurt.

"Borja, for God's sake, calm down."

"Valera," Boris pleads, "get out of here somehow without being seen... use the fire escape!"

"You're joking, right?" he complains, annoyed, "I have no intention of leaving my house like that, as if I were a thief..."

But Boris doesn't listen to him anymore: he left the bedroom slamming the door and ran to the front door, just before Svetlana put the keys in the lock.

"Svetusha, my love! What are you doing here? I was expecting you the next week,” Boris cries, out of breath, barely opening the door.

“Oh dad, you're at home, then. Why didn’t you answer me?"

"I don't scream from a window like a newsboy, I'm a civilized man," he grumbles.

The daughter looks at him fondly: “Right. We made a change of plans at the last minute: some of my former university mates are in Moscow this week, so I thought of killing two birds with one stone: come to see you, and make a reunion with them. I hope it's not a problem for you."

"No, honey, of course not! In fact, you had a great idea."

Only then does Boris notice her daughter's husband, standing behind her, and greets him with a polite nod (he still has that long Tarzan hair, he notes with disappointment).

"But where's my nephew?"

"This time we left him at home: it's a long travel to Moscow, and Alexander's father had promised to take him to see the Northern Lights."

"I understand. Of course, it will be a great experience for him."

"You had to see how excited he was, we didn't keep him anymore!"

"I can only imagine."

"Um, listen Dad, do you think you're going to let us in, sooner or later?" Svetlana asks with an amused face.

"Ah yes, here..."

"Oh, are you busy? Sorry, I should have called you first."

"No, don’t be silly. You’re always welcome! It's just that... that I haven't been able to clean around, the house is a bit messy."

"I always say that to your father: he should  **erect** a cleaning schedule."

Valery's cheerful, almost chirping voice makes itself heard behind Boris, who turns to him with an annoyed glance.

_ "Didn't we agree that you would have gotten out of the window?" _ Boris’ eyes are asking.

_ "No, I didn't agree at all," _ replies Valery's cheeky gaze.

_ "And what is this indecent allusion?" _

_ "Until a minute ago you didn't mind indecent." _

"Oh, Professor Legasov, hello!" Svetlana exclaims, pushing the door to enter, "Alex, love, do you remember Professor Legasov, dad's friend?"

Alexander, who doesn't speak Russian very well, just shows off a bright smile, wrapping Valery's hand in his.

If they were in more friendly terms, Valery would congratulate Svetlana on the choose of her husband, a blond Swede with an athletic body, taller even more than Boris.

Svetlana puts down her suitcase and looks around, shaking her head: “Dad, how can you say that the house is a mess? It's perfect."

"I always tell him too," Valery sighs, "but your father is a real maniac of cleaning: as soon as there is a sheet of paper out of place, he must immediately fix it."

"Well, excuse me if I don't like to live in a landfill," Boris mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest, offended.

Svetlana senses that she has found an ally in Valery, and looks at him smiling: "When I was a child, he wouldn't let me go play with friends if I hadn't tidied my room before, can you imagine?"

Valery looks at Boris, pretending to be deeply upset: "Boo, what a stern father!"

"True, isn’t he?"

"Shut up, you two!" Boris grumbles, then puts a hand on Valery's shoulder, trying to push him towards the front door: "Valery, Svetusha and Alexander are probably tired from the long journey, so I think you should..."

"Make tea," Valery interrupts, slipping from under his grasp like an eel, "great idea."

Boris glares at him again, but Valery responds with a smirk, and raises his chin in challenge: he will keep quiet about the true nature of their relationship because he promised Boris, but he will leave when he decides, after all, this is also his home. And he wants to keep Boris on his toes for a while, it's fun.

Svetlana and Alexander observe the silent exchange of glances between the two of them, a little puzzled, finally the husband speaks in his broken Russian: "Tea is perfect."

Boris moves to get the kettle, but Valery puts a hand on his arm: "I’ll do it, you and your daughter will have many things to talk about."

While father and daughter are chatting, Valery puts the kettle on the stove, takes the tray and the cups, but when he opens the kitchen cabinet to take the tea jar, he realizes that it’s definitely out of his reach.

He brings his hands on his hips and sighs heavily, lowering his head.

"Boris..."

"What's up?"

"Why don't you put the jar a little higher, while you're at it? Upstairs, maybe!"

"Well, I certainly can't keep kitchen stuff on the floor. And then I get there without problems." Boris reaches out and takes the jar, without even having to stand on tiptoe.

Valery takes it grudgingly and mutters something unpleasant about his height, but Boris just smiles, amused.

Then Valery serves tea, accompanied by a large assortment of biscuits, and Boris chuckles slowly.

"What?" Valery asks, looking at him sideways.

"Tea... actually it was an excuse to eat biscuits."

"As if I was the only one eating them," he replies, pointing to the one that Boris has taken from the tray.

"Yes, but I'm not the one who every Monday says he wants to start a diet."

"Oh, shut up."

While sipping tea, Valery and Boris continue to bicker amiably, laughing, until the statesman realizes that his daughter is watching them carefully, then his smile collapses and he feels the need to fabricate an excuse, fearing that Svetlana will guess something about them, therefore he tells her that he and Valery are working together on a project.

"A very, very important project," Boris laughs nervously, "That's why Valery is often here."

"Oh yes," Valery echoes, narrowing his eyes, "we can say that our working  **relationship ** has become... extremely  **intense** , and this is a second home for me, now."

"But now Professor Legasov has to go!" Boris exclaims, lovingly smashing Valery’s foot with his one under the table: another innuendo like that and he will have a heart attack.

"Are you sure, dad?" Svetlana asks, "if you are busy there is no problem, meanwhile Alex and I can unpack our bags."

In fact, the girl has the feeling that she interrupted something from the moment she set foot in her father's apartment.

"No, no, we just can't... work now," Boris says.

"Yes, it could be inconvenient," Valery urges: he is really having a great fun. He also thought of sticking out his tongue at Boris, in response to his grim look, but it would be too childish.

"Indeed: it's late and Valery has to go back to his house, it's not that he lives here for real, ha ha ha!" Boris grabs Valery by the arm, lifting him up, and pushes him towards the door, "I'll escort him down to the street, and then we'll decide what to cook for dinner, okay?" he says, turning to his daughter.

"Okay... okay..." Svetlana stammers, definitely bewildered by her father's behavior, "Uh... goodbye, Professor Legasov, see you."

"Oh yes, of course I’ll **come **here again," Valery puts a hand on Boris' shoulder, "I certainly can't overlook this..."

"JOB!" Boris interrupts him, fearing that Valery is about to bring them out into the open, and he doesn't even realize that he has said something very ambiguous.

Valery has to bite the inside of his cheeks in order not to burst out laughing: before being interrupted, they were doing a great (blow)job in their bedroom.

"Exactly: it’s a demanding job, but it’s worth dedicating body and soul to it," Valery concludes, before leaving the apartment.

"Are you crazy?" Boris hisses, closing the door behind him and accompanying Valery down the stairs.

Valery bites his lips and doesn’t reply: seeing Boris so agitated is a show, too bad he couldn't film him.

"Go to the hotel and tell them you have to move the reservation to today," Boris continues, "If they make a fuss, call me, I'll take care of it."

"I don't even have my pajamas and toothbrush with me," Valery complains.

"I know, I know... buy new ones. You needed them anyway."

"You're impossible," Valery exclaims, but still brushes a hand behind Boris’ nape to pull him close and kiss him.

"I'll miss you, Valera."

Valery hugs him one last time, "Have a nice evening with your daughter."

Boris goes up again, and chats with his daughter about work and Sweden, he smiles delighted when Svetlana shows him the last photos of Oleg, but when it's time to set the table for dinner, Svetlana points out that he has put four dishes, but they are only three.

"Forgive your old father, Svetusha, he's an idiot," Boris mutters, taking away one plate and glass, "he's a true idiot."

It’s almost midnight when the phone rings.

Boris frowns, but lifts the handset: it could be his office.

"Shcherbina."

"Hey…"

"Valera!" Boris exclaims, then turns to look at the closed door of the guest room, where his daughter and Alexander are sleeping, but it seems they haven’t woken up. "How is the hotel?"

"I don't know, I'm in my office."

"Uh… why?"

"Because right now there is the skating Grand Prix in Moscow, and apparently there is no way to find a free room, in this or another hotel."

"I told you to call me if there were problems!"

"Boris, if the hotel is full, it's full. What could you do, build a room on the fly? I will sleep on the cot I have here in my office."

Before meeting Boris, Valery did it often: he had no one waiting for him at home, so he worked late and sometimes he was too tired to go back to his apartment.

"Valera, I'm sorry."

"Your sorrow won't help my back, I'm afraid."

Boris sighs: "I guess you're mad at me."

"I tried: I sulked for a while, but I can't get mad at you seriously."

"Really?"

"Really."

Boris turns back to the guest room, then covers the receiver with one hand and whispers, "I love you and I miss you."

"Don't you want to know why I'm not mad at you anymore?"

"Is it because you love me too?" Boris asks hopefully, and Valery snorts a laugh.

“You know I love you, but right now there is another reason. I’m lying on the cot, naked, and I’m touching myself, thinking of you."

The receiver almost slips from Boris' hand. He looks around, terrified, as if Valery had just used a megaphone to speak and the whole neighbourhood had heard him.

"Are you insane?"

"Not at all. Today we were interrupted so abruptly that I’m still feeling deeply unsatisfied."

Even Boris feels the same, to be honest, but that's not the point: "What do you do if someone walks in your office and finds you?" he hisses.

"At this hour there is no one in the institute, relax. Hmm..." a groan escapes from Valery's lips and Boris pictures him in his mind, shamelessly naked, with a hand around his erection.

He has to adjust his trousers, suddenly too tight.

"At the moment I'm far from relaxed."

"Do you want to listen to?"

"To... what?"

“To my hand on me. Do you want to hear it?"

Boris tries to swallow, but his mouth is too dry: it's madness, but he wants it, fuck, he wants it.

"You’ll be the death of me."

Valery tries to laugh, but he's breathless, and Boris realizes that he has never stopped touching himself as he speaks to him.

He swears in a low voice, pulls the telephone cord to the bedroom and locks the door, sitting against the wall.

"What did you do, Boris?"

"What do you think? I shut myself in our bedroom: my daughter and her husband are here, if you’ve forgotten, I couldn't stay in the living room."

"So, do you want to hear it?"

"Yes," Boris confesses in a whisper, and Valery lowers the receiver on his groin, making him hear his hand, sliding quickly on his shaft and slapping rhythmically against his balls.

Boris bites his lips to hold back a groan and presses a hand on his erection: Valery is not there, but it’s as if he were, and just hearing his moans and those noises, so explicit, is incredibly exciting.

Valery knows it, and he’s enjoy himself greatly.

"Are you touching yourself too?" Valery asks.

"Yes."

"Over your trousers?"

"Yes…"

"Take it out."

"Valery..."

"Come on, take your cock out and touch it, make me hear your hand on it."

Boris lowers the receiver to make Valery listen to the sound of the trousers zipper and the rustle of the underwear being lowered, then finally he closes his hand around his cock, sighing in delight; when he starts talking to Valery again, he’s breathless: "Did you like it?"

"Oh yes... it's your turn now."

"To... do what?"

"Tell me what to do."

Boris can hear the smile in Valery's voice.

"Stroke your balls, slowly, but without squeezing them."

"Ngh, you know I'm ticklish."

"But I also know you like it."

Valery moans and gasps, but follows Boris' directions.

"Now you can massage them if you want," Boris' voice is increasingly hoarse.

"Do I turn you on, Borja?"

"You don't know how much."

"Are you going to come?"

"Yes, I'm dripping."

"Wait, not yet."

With a great effort, Boris takes his hand away from his groin, and focuses on the call.

"What else do you want me to do? Tell me, Borja... hm..."

"Slide your hand behind your balls, touch your perineum, lightly."

"Oh, you know all my... ah... weaknesses, right?"

"Press one finger on it, hard."

"Bor... ah... AAH!" Valery cries out and is shaken by a long orgasm; Boris just has to close his eyes to see him, with his back arched and his head thrown back.

The receiver falls on the floor and some time passes before Valery recovers it.

"Now it's your turn, Borja, let me feel your hand on you again."

"I won't last long," he warns him: it's a miracle that didn't come by listening to Valery's orgasm.

Boris hears him snorting a very satisfied giggle, then licks his palm, lowers the receiver on his groin again, and pumps fast and loud; what they're doing is weird, outrageous, but Boris is incredibly turned on by it. He grunts, when the orgasm overwhelms him and sobs Valery's name, then rests the receiver on his ear again, panting.

"Boris? Are you still there?"

"Barely," Boris gasps, leaning his head against the wall, and Valery chuckles.

"I deduce that you enjoyed your first phone sex experience."

"I made a mess," Boris mutters.

"Tell me what you did."

"Aren't you tired yet?"

"Of this? No."

"I stained my shirt and trousers."

He will have to clean his clothes in the bathroom, he wouldn't take them to the laundry, not even under torture.

“You're in our bedroom, it’s nothing serious. Think what would have happened if I called you while you were in the office.”

"I would have hung up!"

"Really Borja? Would you have given up on this?”

"And you tell me I'm impossible!"

Valery laughs slowly: "Goodnight my love."

"Goodnight, I'll call you tomorrow."

The following morning, Svetlana looks with a bit of bewilderment at the telephone cord that disappears under her father's bedroom door.

"Dad, what happened?"

"Oh, last night I got a very... er... meaningful call, but it was late, then I brought the phone to my room so I wouldn't wake you up," explains Boris, setting up breakfast. Only at the last moment he realize that he is putting an extra dish on the table, again, and he hastily places it back in the cupboard.

By now he is so accustomed to the presence of Valery in his life that those gestures are automatic to him, and a part of him knows that Valery has the right to be there, he knows that he should speak to his daughter about their relationship and let her know the truth: Valery and his daughter are equally important in his life, he can’t continue to keep them apart forever.

Svetlana says nothing, takes a sip of tea and drums with her fingers on the cup: she seems lost in thoughts.

"Is it about that work project you were talking about yesterday?" She finally asks.

"Eh... ah... let's say yes."

“You should tell Professor Legasov not to disturb you late at night, because I think that it's very rude,” she sentences, biting a biscuit.

"No, Valery never disturbs," Boris replies, and he doesn't even realize how vehement his voice becomes, "he can call whenever he wants because it’s important... that is, what we are doing is important..." Boris' gaze runs to the empty chair, "It's really important to me."

His daughter pauses before speaking again: "I don't think you've ever told Alex how you and Professor Legasov met."

"Why, would he understand something?" Boris mutters in a tight and fast Ukrainian, earning a fiery glance from his daughter.

"Okay," Boris lowers his eyes on his cup of tea and a sweet smile makes its way onto his lips, "There was a meeting at the Kremlin, with Gorbachev and all the deputy ministers. Not something that happens frequently, as you can imagine, so we were all faultless. And then he entered, this professor, apparently awkward and intimidated, and somehow attracted my attention. But, mind you, it was only appearance, because in reality Valery is the most determined and capable man I have ever known. In fact, during that meeting he..."

After breakfast, it’s Alexander who gets up, clears the table and washes the dishes, while father and daughter continue to chat.

"Would you like to go to the cemetery, to pay a visit to mom’s gravestone?" Boris asks, and Svetlana smiles, placing a hand on his, "Sure, dad."

The gravestone is clean, immaculate, and there are candles and fresh flowers, as if Olga Shcherbina had only died a few days ago, instead of more than twenty years ago.

Boris tells his daughter some episodes of when he and his mother were teenagers, and how incredible Olga was, as he always does when they come to the cemetery.

"Shall we go home?" Boris asks after a while, sweeping away some dry leaves from the grave with his handkerchief.

"Go ahead, I'll be back a little later: since I'm here, I'm going to say hi to my friends and we’ll plan our reunion."

"Be careful."

Svetlana puts her hands on her hips, exasperated: "Dad, I'm about to turn thirty-five!"

"So what? Can't a poor father tell his little girl to be careful when she's out on her own?”

Svetlana snorts: her father will never change, but then she kisses him on the cheek: "I'll be careful."

And after a coffee with her friends, she has another place to go.

When she leaves the cemetery, Boris looks back at his wife's gravestone.

“Our Svetusha is a good girl, has a good head on her shoulders and I shouldn't torment her like that, I know. I also know that she is no longer a child, Ljona, but a part of me refuses to accept that she has grown up."

The photo of his wife seems to look at him reproachfully, and Boris sighs: “And her husband is also a good man, despite that hair and that unpronounceable surname! No, really," he continues, more calmly, "I couldn't have hoped for anyone better for Svetusha: they are in love, they have a wonderful family and they’re happy. And..." Boris scratches the back of his neck, almost embarrassed, moving the gravel with his foot, "I hope you won't get angry, if I’m happy with Valera, because I am." He sinks his hands into the pockets of his coat and looks up to the sky, "I didn't expect to fall in love again, I wasn't looking for someone, Valery just happened, but I couldn't be more grateful," he closes his eyes and smiles, “I love him, I really love him.”

"Professor Legasov, can I come in?" Svetlana asks, after knocking on his office door.

Valery is taken aback by the unexpected visit, and it takes a moment before he reacts. "Svetlana! Sure, sure, come in. What are you doing here? Can I do something for you?"

"Actually, I'd like to do something for you... Valery. Do you mind if I call you Valery?”

"No, no, not at all..." he stammers, but he is increasingly confused.

"Excellent: I came to take you home."

"I don't understand."

"At home with that stupid father of mine: you two live together, don't you?"

Valery pales: how did she guess it? It doesn't matter, surely it was because of something he said or did, because he is a clumsy man who can't lie.

And now Boris will kill him.

No, he’s not exaggerating, like when Boris was handcuffed to the bed, this time he will seriously kill him.

"No, no, you misunderstood! Boris and I don't... don't…”

No, it’s useless: Valery just can't lie and deny their relationship, what is between them is too important: he is sorry if this will cause problems to Boris, but he can't do it. Period.

"Valery, give me some credit," Svetlana reproaches, putting her hands on her hips and looking at him in a way that makes her look incredibly like her father.

"How did you understand it?" Valery asks, bowing his head.

"There are many clues: the apartment is large and in the master bedroom there is a double bed. It's a house for two."

"Maybe he just likes to be comfortable," Valery ventures. Perhaps he can still save the situation somehow.

“A pragmatic man like him? If he lived alone, he would have a studio apartment. No, not exactly. He would have a two-room apartment: a room for him and a room for his clothes.

Valery just can't hold back a laugh: the wardrobe division was a reason of fierce friction when they went to live together.

"And then both yesterday evening and this morning, dad set the table for four, as if someone were missing."

"Oh…"

"But above all, I figured it out from how you bickered yesterday afternoon."

Valery frowns: "We fought and you understood that we are together?"

"That wasn’t fighting: I grew up in a house where that love bickering was on the agenda daily, I recognize the signs."

"Like an old married couple, huh?"

"Exactly."

"Have you already said to him that you know about us?"

“No, he would still be denying or having a meltdown over it: that's why I want you to come home with me, so he will have to admit it. I guess you slept in a hotel last night, do you want to pick up your luggage first?"

"That's usually the case, but this time the hotels were all full because of the skating Grand Prix."

"And where did you sleep then?" the girl asks, widening her eyes.

Valery points to the camp cot at the far end of the room, with an old shaggy wool blanket thrown on it, and Svetlana's face takes on an indignant expression.

"And does my dad know you slept here?"

"Yes."

"But it’s unfair! How can he let you sleep on a cot like a jailbird because of his paranoia?"

Valery tries to placate her: “It's not that bad, you know? Before I met Boris, I often used to sleep here in my office."

Svetlana raises her hands, struck by a thought: "Wait, before you said that you 'usually' go to a hotel: how long have you and my dad lived together?"

"We bought that apartment about a year ago."

"That long? But when I call, he always answers the phone."

"It's because he wanted to install two different phone lines, as a precaution, one for me and one for him."

Svetlana massages her temples, more and more appalled: "Unbelievable... and he kicked you out of your house every time I came to Moscow to visit him?"

"Now, kicked out is a bit of a strong term..."

"Oh dad!" Svetlana exclaims, banging one foot on the ground, "I'm so furious with you now!"

"No, please don't be."

“Why? Is it okay to you to be treated as if you didn't exist, or as something to hide? Valery, he's a bully, but you have to try to stand your ground!"

"No, of course I don't like it, we often fight because of this, but I ask you to put yourself in his shoes: our relationship is something new and different for him, Boris has never... I’m his first man, and talking about it with someone else, albeit a daughter, is not easy for him."

"If dad thinks I would get mad because he has a relationship with a man, then he knows me very little."

"Actually, I don't think he's afraid of your judgment, in his heart he knows you can understand, but I think he's afraid of hurting you and making you suffer, he doesn't want you to think that he has forgotten your mother, because you will always be..."

"... his little girl, even though I'm an adult and mom died twenty years ago," Svetlana concludes with a sigh, sitting on the edge of the desk, "you're right, this is just typical of dad."

“So go easy on him, I’m begging you. He’s a big guy, but he is hurt easily."

Svetlana looks at him with a sweet smile.

"Thanks, Valery."

"For what?"

"Dad is beaming."

"Well," Valery shrugs, "it's because of you: he's always so happy to see you."

But the girl shakes her head: "After mom died, I thought I would never see him smile again, not like that. Of course, he smiles at me and at Olegushka, and if I threaten him enough, even at Alexander, but not as he smiled at my mother. Yesterday afternoon, while he was joking with you, I saw that smile again. It's nice to see him like this again and know he's happy, so thank you.”

Valery doesn't know what to say, he's afraid he will make a fool of himself if he tries to speak, so he just tightens his lips and nods with gratitude.

"Obviously," Svetlana straightens her back, suddenly reminding him that she is the daughter of an imposing Ukrainian, "you will continue to make him happy forever, will you?"

Ah, the inevitable 'break-his-heart-and-I-will-break-your-neck' speech.

There is no need for it, but it is still very effective.

"Sure. And... he makes me very happy, too."

"Let's go home, then," Svetlana says, taking him by the arm. "Anyway, I think I'm going to tease dad for the fact that he hid me he’s in a relationship, just a little bit."

"Oh... why?"

"You don't know him! When I was a teenager he asked to a KGB acquaintance of him to follow around the boys I liked, and he had their files."

"What?"

"I swear! Obviously they were scared to death and ran away at lightspeed."

"Oh, goodness..." Valery mumbles, rubbing his face: somehow, he has no trouble believing it.

"Alexander is the only one who has never been intimidated."

"Brave boy."

"Actually, I think that Alex understood that dad just wanted to protect me, and never got angry over it."

"And I believe that despite everything, your father likes him."

"Yes, but he will never admit it."

"No, not even in a million years!"

The two look each other in the eye and burst out laughing, as they continue walking home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real PSA for phone sex kink, but be sure that you're not putting your partner in a difficult/embarrassing situation while you're at it.


	5. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valery has a new, young and handsome colleague.  
Boris is deadly jealous.

Boris puts his hands on his hips and looks at the table he set, satisfied: satin tablecloth, silver cutlery, candles, red roses, and for dinner caviar canapés and Valery's favorite stew.

He’s wearing a dark gray suit and a green tie, one of Valery's first gifts, and his gray hair is carefully combed.

It’s not their anniversary and they aren’t celebrating a special event today, Boris simply wants to do something nice for his lover: no matter how much time has passed, he never grows tired of keeping the romance alive and spending a special evening with him.

However, time passes and Valery doesn’t come back home: sometimes he does extra hours in his laboratory, but when it’s ten p.m., Boris starts to worry.

He is about to call him at the Institute, when he hears the key turn in the lock, and Valery comes in, almost stumbling on his feet.

Boris frowns: Valery is clumsy, but not so much.

"Valera, are you okay?"

"Hm? Yes, yes," he takes off his coat, placing it with some difficulty on the hanger at the entrance, "I didn't realize it was getting so late, the fact is that..." Valery turns in the direction of the kitchen and gapes as he sees the laid table, the flowers and the candles, but instead of reacting like Boris expects, that is, with a smile, he seems sorry, almost mortified.

"Something wrong?" Boris asks, confused by his behavior.

Valery takes off his glasses to massage his eyes and sighs: “Geez, now I really feel guilty. Oh love, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

Valery walks up to him and takes his face in his hands: “Because you are wonderful, you’ve cooked this delicious dinner for us, but I have already dined with my colleagues. That's why I’m so late."

"You also drank."

Now that he is so close to him, Boris can smell vodka in his breath; his is not a reproach, since he drinks often and willingly when he goes out with his friends, but it’s curious, because Valery is not a sociable man and rarely drinks.

"Two or three glasses," he admits.

That's why he staggered when he entered.

"Were you celebrating something?"

Valery smiles almost with relief: "Yes: there is a new member of the laboratory staff and this one is really capable and smart! By now I was no longer hoping to find someone useful. And he offered the dinner to all of us, too!"

After two colleagues retired, Valery's department was understaffed and the replacements they found turned out to be one worse than the other: two people actually came from other fields of physics and couldn’t help, one person had been imposed by the central committee and turned out to be an incompetent (promptly kicked out), and the last one had even falsified his resume.

They’ve been stressful and tiring months for Valery, therefore, if now a competent person has arrived and he can help him and lighten his workload, Boris is happy for him.

"Don't worry about our dinner, it will be for another time."

“I feel terribly guilty all the same. Did you at least eat something?"

"No, I was waiting for you."

Valery rests his forehead on Boris’: "Listen what we do: you eat something while I take a shower, and then let's see if we can save the evening."

"Excellent idea, I like it."

Boris lets him go to the bathroom, and eats something quickly, then he puts the leftovers in the fridge for the next day and blows out the candles; in the meantime he hears Valery shut off the water and shortly afterwards his lover reappears in the kitchen, wearing only a bathrobe.

A mischievous smile makes its way onto the freckled face, and Boris licks his lips: he knows that look well, it means that Valery wants to try something new.

"Sit down," Valery orders, and when he sees that Boris begins to undress, he stops him, "No, stay dressed."

Boris opens his mouth to protest and say that certain activities are better done naked, so as not to have to struggle with embarrassing stains later, but then he notices Valery's appreciative look that runs along his body, so he shuts up and sits down.

Boris loves to dress sharp and always be tidy and elegant, but for him it has always been a matter of dignity (and okay, even a little vanity), he has never considered himself particularly sexy while wearing a work suit.

Valery sees it in a radically opposite way, judging by his incandescent gaze and the erection that protrudes between the folds of the bathrobe.

Valery sits astride on him and grabs his tie to draw and kiss him avidly.

"We never did it in this position, did we?" he asks, already breathless.

Boris shakes his head and then fumbles impatiently with the knot of Valery's bathrobe belt: he prefers to have him naked.

Valery lets Boris cover his chest and shoulders with kisses, lets the Ukrainian’s big hands slide down his bare back, and he's almost dizzy with it (or maybe he's really drunk too much). He moves back slightly to be able to unfasten Boris' trousers when he hears a strange creak.

He frowns, confused, while Boris seems to realize what is about to happen, because he opens his eyes wide and hugs Valery to get up, but he has no time to do anything, and a second later the chair gives way under their weight, and they find themselves lying on the floor.

Realizing what had happened, Valery burst out laughing, regardless of the blow and the pain (yes, he definitely drank a little too much), while Boris isn’t happy at all, and swears at the top of his lungs.

"We have to buy more solid furniture!" Valery laughs, lying on Boris.

"Hm. Are you fine?"

"Yes, yes," he reassures him, patting a hand on his belly, "I landed on soft ground, but maybe it's better to opt for a more traditional position," he laughs, tilting his head towards the bedroom.

"I agree."

They get up; Boris has a little back pain, but nothing to worry about, and an annoying tingling in one hand. Looking at it more closely, he realizes that he has a splinter of the wood of the chair in it.

"I'll be right there," he says to Valery, and goes to the bathroom to remove it with tweezers and disinfect it, but when he enters their bedroom, he discovers that Valery is already asleep and is snoring loudly: that’s what happens when you’re not used to drinking.

Boris sighs, looking at him affectionately, lies down and turns off the light: the romantic evening he had in mind is ruined, but he’s certain that they will make up soon.

However, the morning after Boris is no longer so sure: that vague discomfort in the back due to the fall from the chair has turned into a flaring pain, as if someone had stuck a knife just above his kidneys. When he tries to move around, the pain becomes even more intense, and he can't hold back a groan, which wakes his partner up.

"Hey, what time is it? Hm, is it already morning?" Valery blinks slowly to focus.

"Yes," replies Boris, as he tries to turn on his side without letting Valery understand how bad his back is, but the rigidity of his movements betrays him.

"Borja, what’s wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing..." he tries to minimize, but a new wave of pain makes him hiss.

"Well, it doesn't seem like nothing to me."

"My back..." he confesses.

"Damn!" Valery gets up and runs to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, taking an arnica ointment against the pains, then lifts his pajama jacket and gently massages it, but Boris has the feeling that he will need something stronger.

He's not used to be sick or hurt, and he feels incredibly demoralized.

"Do you want me to call the doctor?"

"Bring me my phone, I'll call him."

Despite being a little worried, Valery smiles: Boris never forgets to be cautious in hiding their relationship.

Twenty minutes later Valery is ready to go to work, but first he leaves a jug of fresh water on Boris' bedside table and kisses him on the temple.

"I'm going now, but please: if you need anything, call me, I'll be back immediately."

"Don't worry, it's just a back pain."

Boris doesn't call, and Valery decides to take it as a good sign.

Just as he is ready to go home, there is a problem with one of the ongoing experiments and Valery is called upon to solve it.

He watches his wristwatch and sighs: he wouldn't want to be late for the second evening in a row, but the problem is not insignificant and he doesn't know if someone else could manage it.

"Something wrong?" asks Amir, the new colleague.

"Nothing: apparently I'll be late tonight too."

"Did you have a date?" the man asks, tilting his head, then widens his eyes, as if he realizes he asked something inappropriate, "Forgive me, it's none of my business."

"There is no problem: my... my partner is not well, so I wanted to go home to see how she is. Also, last night she made a special dinner for us, while I had already dined... let's say I feel a little guilty."

Despite this, Valery wears his coat and gloves, ready to enter the laboratory, but Amir stops him: "I can check the experiment. Go home, Professor Legasov."

Valery doesn’t want to take advantage of his new assistant, Amir too should go home, but he is worried about Boris: that back pain seemed really bad.

"Are you sure it's not a nuisance?"

"Absolutely, the family is always the most important thing."

When Valery comes back home, he finds Boris sitting on the couch, holding their cat in his arms.

"Hey, are you feeling better?"

"Yes, the doctor gave me a painkiller injection and told me to continue for a few days. Even the ointment can help."

"I'm glad," Valery replies, bending down to kiss him, then frowns when he sees that Boris gets up slowly.

"Where are you going?"

"To warm dinner."

"Don’t even think about it, I’ll do it," he says, placing a hand on his chest, "Fortunately Amir replaced me, and I was able to go home earlier."

"Amir?"

"Our new colleague: he said that family is more important than work."

"I like him, he's a wise man."

“Yes, and he is also an excellent researcher. For example, this morning, he reviewed a project that had been stalled for weeks, because..."

Valery explains why Amir is so good while heating the stew, while they’re having dinner, and even while he’s washing the dishes, and suddenly Boris likes Amir much less.

Then he calms down and says himself that he’s behaving like a idiot, because Valery’s department has been in trouble for months, it’s normal that he is now talking in enthusiastic terms about a skilled colleague.

He decides to forget about Amir, and to turn the evening around by kissing Valery on the neck, while he is drying his hands in his apron, but the professor stops him by jokingly placing a hand on his mouth.

"Let's go slowly for a few days, I don't want your back pain to get worse again."

Boris kisses his fingers and asks in a low voice: "Are you sure?"

Valery bites his lip: “You're not making it easy for me but yes, I'm sure. Come on, let's go to bed, so I can spread the ointment on your back."

A couple of days later Boris feels well enough to go back to work, and during lunch break he decides to go to the Kurchatov Institute, because in the meantime Valery hasn’t stopped praising his new colleague, so he urgently needs to investigate.

Not that Boris is jealous, he has no reason to be, but if someone is helping Valery so much in his job, it's his duty to know and thank him.

It's just that, really, he says to himself as he takes the elevator.

When he reaches Valery's office, he opens the door without knocking, as he usually does, but his partner has a guest, a young man who raises two curious eyes on him.

“Oh sorry Valery, I didn't want to disturb you. Feel free to finish speaking with your student, see you in the hall later."

Valery shakes his head and laughs: “No Boris, he isn’t a student of mine, this is Amir, our new colleague. Amir, this is Boris Shcherbina, uh... a dear friend of mine."

The world stops abruptly for Boris.

Is that Amir?

He’s not in the least like Boris had imagined him. In his mind, Amir was more about Valery's age, he wore the same thick glasses, and was a total nerd, but this man could easily make a living as a fashion model: he has dark eyes, thick smooth black hair, sharp cheekbones, plump lips and, when he gets up to shake hands with Boris, it’s impossible not to notice the lean and athletic body.

"Nice to meet you."

Amir's handshake is firm and his voice pleasant.

As much as Boris is endeavoring to maintain a rational attitude, jealousy is winning without too much effort the battle within himself, and when he shakes Amir's hand, he squeezes it so hard that the other man winces.

"Did you need anything, Boris?" Valery asks.

"I wanted to ask you if you want to have lunch with me."

To tell the truth, if he could, Boris would now drag Valery away from his colleague and close him in an ivory tower.

"I don't know... We are reviewing important data," says Valery, tapping with the pen on the sheets in front of him, but Amir stops him, "There is no hurry, we can continue later. In fact, I take this opportunity to have a bite too."

"Oh. Perfect then."

Boris' jealousy rises another, dangerous notch.

As long as he asked to go to lunch, Valery found an excuse, but as soon as Amir spoke, he changed his mind.

Has Amir already such a great influence over Valery?

The situation during the lunch doesn’t improve at all, because Valery does nothing but talk about how good and helpful his new colleague is, and doesn’t even realize how tense Boris has become.

After the coffee, the professor quickly looks at his watch and gets up.

“Thanks for lunch, but now I really have to go back to the laboratory. See you tonight,” he smiles and, as he passes by, touches Boris’ shoulder with his hand.

_ "It's all right," _ Boris thinks,  _ "Everything is fine, Valery loves you, not him," _ but the jealousy hurries to remind him of the words of praise that Valery has for Amir (bright, kind, intelligent, indispensable).

By now his mind is in full red alert.

Boris arrives home first and decides to take a hot shower to relax. As he undresses, his gaze falls on the mirror in their room.

Boris has never been ashamed of his body, on the contrary, he is proud of his height and his muscular arms, but after seeing Amir, he feels all the weight of his years.

In addition, by cooking for Valery, he has put on weight, he reflects, sinking two fingers into his belly. 

He bets Amir has perfect abs.

Looking at him under a new light, even Amir's kindness appears increasingly suspicious to Boris: he’s sure that Amir is trying to make himself appreciated, a subtle maneuver to conquer and take away his Valery.

Sooner or later Valery will notice how handsome Amir is, and it won't take long for him to compare them, if he hasn't already done so.

For example, the other night, during the embarrassing accident of the broken chair, Valery said that they have to buy more solid furniture and then he touched his belly, surely he alluded to his weight, and with good reason: Boris has neglected himself in the last period.

In front of the mirror, Boris growls slowly: he will not give up Valery without fighting, and it’s not too late! All he needs to do is go on a diet and do some exercise to get back in perfect shape.

Valery will no longer remember what Amir looks like.

He decides to start immediately: that evening he puts a tasty soup in front of a bewildered Valery, while he only eats a salad.

"Wait... do you eat only that?"

"Yes, today I ate a little too much, I'm okay."

He certainly can’t confess to Valery his weaknesses and the fear of losing him because of that kind of fashion model who works with him, he is too proud to do so.

However the salad sucks and the scarce dinner leaves him unsatisfied and with stomach cramps from hunger.

Yet his secretary never told him that a diet was so hard, and she’s constantly on diet. Maybe his stomach just needs to get used to the fact that he eats less. Yes, it must certainly be like that.

The following morning, Boris calls his doctor to get a clearance to attend a gym: losing weight is not enough, he must also maintain his muscle tone.

Valery joins him in the living room just as Boris hangs up the phone.

"Was your doctor?"

"Yes."

"Still about your back pain?" the professor worries.

"Yes, I'm going to him now, to check that everything is fine."

"Now? What about breakfast?"

“I will eat something after the visit. See you this evening."

Boris kisses him on the forehead and goes out, leaving Valery rather worried: just a salad for dinner last night and now he refuses to have breakfast. There’s definitely something wrong with Boris.

Boris is sure that exercising on the treadmill or on the exercise bike will be easy for him: he served in the army, he marched under the rain and the sun, an hour of physical activity in the morning before going to work it's nothing compared to that.

However, as well as for the diet, he changes his mind quickly: a quarter of an hour of light running and he is already panting and out of breath, and must sit on a bench. Moreover, he feels tired, because, contrary to what he said to Valery, he didn’t have any breakfast, having decided to reduce his calorie intake to the bare minimum.

But he has to be strong and go on, otherwise Amir will take Valera away from him.

No, he thinks resolutely, pursing his lips, he will never allow it to happen.

He sits on the exercise bike and starts pedaling happily.

Unfortunately, Valery is not making it easy for him to lose weight, because that evening he is the one who makes him find a nice dinner.

"Since we didn't enjoy it the other night," he explains.

It's a very nice thought, but Boris can’t frustrate the efforts made and the diet, so he just eats a couple of mouthfuls, hoping that Valery won't notice.

Vain hope, because the professor looks at him, a little insulted.

"Look, I know my cooking isn't as good as yours, but it's not that bad either."

"No, no, it’s not that," Boris placates him, reaching out across the table, "today my secretary brought a homemade cake and I ate a slice too much, that's all."

"I see," Valery murmurs, but inside he’s not convinced at all: Boris has been behaving strangely for a couple of days, he is far and distracted, and looks tired, almost worn out.

He really hopes it's nothing serious.

The following morning, when he wakes up, his doubts are further fueled by the fact that Boris has already left the house, leaving him a concise note on the pillow: he's busy with work, so he went out earlier.

This is not normal.

In the meantime, Boris has just finished running on the treadmill in the gym: he has skipped breakfast again, and the idea of eating again only a salad for lunch makes him feel sick.

Valery always accuses him of being exaggerated and dramatic, but this time it's different: he really feels dizzy and...

... and when he opens his eyes again, he is lying on a hospital bed, a nurse above him checking the infusion rate of his IV.

"Oh, you’re awake, good."

"What... what happened to me?"

“You passed out while you were in the gym. Don't worry, from the tests we ran on you it just looks like a big drop in sugar levels in the blood."

Boris is not surprised: he hasn't eaten virtually anything in the past few days, and has gone beyond his limits in the gym. He had to predict it would happen.

"Listen," continues the nurse, "In the corridor there is a man who claims to be a relative of yours. Red hair, freckles, glasses, do you know him?"

"Yes, I do."

“Can I get him in? He is out of his mind."

"Of course."

The nurse lets Valery in, and then leaves them alone. Boris doesn't even have time to open his mouth, Valery is on him and hugs him tight.

"How did you know I was here?"

"You left early this morning, so I called you, and your secretary told me you were in the hospital."

"I'm sorry."

"Shut up! Whatever it is, we'll face it together, do you hear me? You will be visited by the best specialists in the country, I will bring doctors from abroad, I will do anything."

Boris mentally curses himself: Valery thinks he is sick, that he has something serious.

"Love, calm down, it's nothing."

"No it’s not true! You are weak and you barely eat!"

"I just had a drop in sugar levels, nothing serious," Boris reassures him, stroking the back of his neck.

Valery raises his face towards him.

"Really? Aren't you hiding something from me so I don't worry?"

"No Valera. Take my medical record."

Valery takes the chart, attached to the foot of the bed, and leafs through it with Boris: in fact, nothing emerged from the exams.

However, while reading his parameters, Boris notices something that makes him jump, and rips the chart from Valery's hands: name, date of birth, age, height... all correct. But the weight… it cannot be! His weight is exactly the same it was three days ago, before undergoing that torture!

"It’s not possible!" he roars, "What the hell do I have to do to lose weight?"

Valery blinks slowly: “Wait, do you mean you went on a diet? And why didn't you tell me anything? Shit, Borja, I was worried for you!"

Oh great, now Valery is mad at him.

"It's all Amir's fault!" he growls, and poor Valery looks at him, bewildered: he understands less and less.

"Amir? What does my colleague have to do with the fact that you went on a diet? Boris, what you say makes no sense."

"Of course it’s his fault: he is young, handsome and thin, and if I don't do something he will take you away from me!" he exclaims excitedly. He had no intention of revealing his fears to Valery, but at least now he put the cards on the table.

Valery tightens his lips in a stern line, and when he speaks again, his voice has turned icy.

“Is that what you think of me? That I would leave you for the first dude I meet?"

"Valera..." Boris raises a hand towards him, but Valery gets up and leaves, slamming the door.

It takes three doctors to prevent Boris from leaving the hospital barefoot and wearing the hospital gown, and convincing him first to drink a tonic, sign the discharge papers, and get dressed.

When he arrives home, Boris’ heart is in his throat: he is afraid that Valery is so angry that he left.

Fortunately no, the scientist is sitting on their bed, cross-legged, surrounded by a tsunami of clothes and is challenging him with his eyes to complain.

Boris and Valery hate arguing, it makes them feel bad, but sometimes it happens, because in their own way they are both stubborn and uncompromising, so they reached a weird agreement about it: when they fight, instead of screaming at each other, Boris stops cooking for a while, while Valery messes up his clothes.

Usually Valery just mixes his socks or wrinkles some shirts, but now Boris' entire wardrobe is scattered around the room. It will take him a day to sort everything out.

Boris sits on the bed next to Valery and opens his mouth to explain himself, but the professor interrupts him.

"I'm furious with you, Boris."

"Well, I can see that."

"When your secretary told me that you were in the hospital, I was scared to death, I thought you were sick, instead you were just acting like a jealous idiot for no reason!"

Boris knows that Valery is right, but he’s not even trying to put himself in his shoes, and as a result he too feels the anger mounting.

"Maybe if someone hadn't spent all the time praising that dandy, I wouldn't have been jealous!"

"Amir is just a colleague."

Instead of calming him, Valery's words make him jealous more and more.

"I've never heard you speak like that about a colleague before."

Valery minimizes his worries with a shrug and a mocking laugh, "You're ridiculous."

Boris can’t accept it: he doesn’t care if he is ridiculous, impossible, apprehensive, he is tired of the words of praise that Valery has for Amir, and Valery doesn't even seem to realize it.

He throws himself on Valery, blocking the scientist under him with a snarl: "You are mine, Valera, only mine, I will never leave you to anyone!" Then the more instinctive and animalistic side of him completely obscures his mind, and he seals Valery's lips in a fiery kiss. Beneath him, Valery writhes and moans a weak protest, but Boris stops kissing him only when the need to breathe becomes too urgent.

Valery is upset, lips swollen and crooked glasses on his nose, but Boris doesn’t stop and bites him on the neck, under the ear, marking him, leaving a red sign for Amir and anyone else who thinks of taking him away.

Valery is his, HIS!

Valery moans louder, but instead of pushing Boris away, he blocks his head against his neck and arches his back, making him feel that he is incredibly hard.

"Yes!" Boris growls, "I’m the only one who can make you feel like this, the only one!"

He slips a hand between their bodies and masturbates him abruptly over his clothes, pressing the heel of his hand hard on his glans, Valery’s trousers already embarrassingly damp around it.

Valery doesn’t stay still for long and, despite the difficult position, he reaches Boris' cock and tightens his fingers around his balls.

Boris shouts and Valery's hand freezes, but the statesman bites his chin.

“Don't you dare stop. Show me you want me."

"You’re impossible," Valery hisses, resuming to masturbate him without finesse, with rough and fast movements that bring Boris dangerously close to orgasm.

"I love you!" Boris screams.

"Well, I love you too!" Valery retorts, then his face deforms in ecstasy when Boris closes two fingers around his glans, making him scream with pleasure and pain. He doesn’t even wait for the shivers to cease, and he starts moving his hand on Boris again, relentlessly, until he feels him stiffen over him and come with a low grunt.

Boris rolls on his back, barely aware of the unpleasant wet feeling between his legs, and stares at the ceiling, his forehead wrinkled in trouble: what the hell happened? He and Valery were arguing, and then...

He turns his head cautiously towards him and sees Valery adjust his glasses on his nose. On the neck, Boris' bite stands out on pale skin, but when Valery touches it with his fingers, he smiles.

"Valera, are you... are you okay?"

"Do you need to ask?" he murmurs, running a hand over his groin and sighing delightedly.

"Okay, but... what did we do?"

Valery closes his eyes and chuckles slowly.

"Makeup sex."

Boris' confusion deepens.

"What?"

"We were fighting, but then we decided to channel our energies in another way."

"Oh…"

In fact, all the anger and jealousy that Boris was feeling seems to have dissipated.

Valery is there with him, has just had sex with him, although Boris has angered him.

Valery turns on his side, raising himself on one elbow, and strokes his face.

“Hey, you know that you have no reason to be jealous of Amir, do you? I love you."

Boris grumbles something incomprehensible, and Valery takes his hand, bringing it to his face and inhaling his own smell.

"Amir can never compete with my irritating, impossible Ukrainian."

“Okay then.”

Valery squeezes his hand and smiles.

"Valera?"

"Hm?"

"Can we have makeup sex next time without fighting first?"

Valery rolls over him and kisses him on the lips.

"Deal."


	6. First time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's dive into the past to find out how Boris and Valery met in this AU.

Boris' thin lips kiss his temple, gently tearing him from sleep.

Still with his eyes closed, Valery turns to him, burying himself against Boris’ chest.

Boris' foot moves up and down his leg.

Valery smiles against his neck.

"It’s today."

"Yes," confirms Boris, kissing the top of his red head.

It’s the anniversary of the first day they met.

*

Boris Shcherbina looked at his assistants for the umpteenth time, barking irritated at anyone who had one hair out of place or some specks of dust on their shoes.

It was an important occasion, there were the secretary general of the central committee, all the ministers, vice ministers, the chiefs of the various departments, personalities from the world of science and technology. The summit hadn’t only a clear celebratory intent, but also bore the task of reorganizing and improving the efficiency of the various sectors of the state. There would be several work meetings, and Boris wanted his department to stand out.

When he was finally satisfied, he went down with his staff to the room reserved for them: since there were so many people at the Kremlin, separate meetings would take place, and only later would the heads of the departments would meet with Gorbachev.

When the door of the room opened, Valery Legasov got to his feet, hoping that the members of the Department of Fuel and Energy had finally decided to start the meeting, but it was just another secretary.

He exhaled a puff of smoke and put out his cigarette in the ashtray, annoyed. What an incredible waste of time! He could have been in his laboratory doing something really useful, instead his boss had forced him to take part to that buffoonery, where nothing important would have been decided and nothing would have changed. Valery didn't even know if a discussion on nuclear reactors was on the agenda.

"Nervous?"

Ulana Khomiyuk, a nuclear physicist from the Belarusian Institute for Nuclear Energy that Valery knew well enough, approached him with a cup of dark and strong tea.

"It's not the word I would have used." Valery took the cup, tilting his head to thank her.

"The word you would like to use is not a good thing in here," Ulana chided him, bringing her cup to her lips.

"What is it, did any of my colleagues ask you to babysit me?"

The other nuclear physicists at the Kurchatov Institute had formed a small group far from him, and ostentatiously ignored him.

“No, mine is maternal concern. You're a stray bullet, Valery Legasov,” the woman said, matter-of-fact.

Valery was the one who didn't care about the protocols and who never stepped back when he had to say the truth, better if in the most direct and brutal terms possible.

"Okay, mommy, I’ll behave, and I’ll return to my laboratory as soon as possible. Provided they decide to start this fucking meeting!"

So saying, Valery got up, approaching the door with the tea still in his hand, to see if anyone was coming.

Right then the door opened, Valery started and spilled his tea on the white shirt of a giant man that had so far looked pristine.

The assistants behind the man held their breath, as if expecting to see Valery disintegrate at any moment under the fiery gaze of their boss. A woman even covered her mouth with her hands, horrified.

"I... oh my... I... my apologies..." Valery stammered, cursing himself for his clumsiness.

The man (tall, very tall, imposing, square jaw and bright blue eyes, Valery noticed) gave him a cold look and left the room without saying a word.

"And you said you would behave!" Ulana hissed.

"I haven’t done it on purpose!"

"Do you at least know who you spilled the tea on?"

"No, I don’t."

"It’s Boris Shcherbina, the head of the department with whom we will have to collaborate in this meeting."

"Oh, great..." Valery muttered, rubbing his face. Obviously he had to anger a big name of the Kremlin.

Even if it was just an accident, he decided to go find Shcherbina and apologize better than he had done before, to avoid making the upcoming meeting unpleasant.

They told him that Shcherbina was in the bathroom, changing, and Valery joined him there.

However, any word of apology died in his throat as soon as he opened the door and saw Shcherbina standing in front of the mirror, naked from the waist up.

He was older than Valery, yet he still had a great body. Valery's eyes were glued to his infinite back, glancing over the muscles, the protruding shoulder blades, the broad shoulders, then his gaze ran down along the muscular arms and the hips; through the mirror Valery saw the sparse gray hairs on his chest, belly and further down... and he knew he was hopelessly fucked, because he would never take Boris Shcherbina's body out of his mind.

That man embodied all of Valery's erotic fantasies.

And even more.

He swallowed so loudly that Shcherbina noticed his presence and cleared his throat, tearing him from his trance.

"Ah, it's you," commented the statesman, taking a brief look at that red-haired man who wore a ill-fitting suit: too loose and long pants, a jacket that didn’t make justice to the shape of his torso, a horrible tie. And yet, there was something that attracted his attention, in that freckled face, but Boris couldn’t identify what it was.

"Yes, here... I wanted to apologize for spilling the tea on you, I am really sorry. Obviously I will pay the laundry service."

The man lowered his eyes, mortified and self-conscious, and Boris almost forgot the annoyance of having to send his assistant to get a spare shirt a few minutes before the meeting began.

"Nothing happened."

"It's not true: I'm always terribly distracted and I never look where I go..."

"Really, it's all right. And I, well, always open the doors with too much irruence." Boris snapped his mouth shut, frowning: what was he doing? Why he was the one who apologized, now?

His assistant knocked on the door, telling him that the meeting could finally begin, and the two men left the bathroom.

During the meeting, many took the floor, praising the efficiency and progress achieved by the Soviet Union in science and technology.

Boris had been in politics for too many years not to understand that much of it was exaggerated, and that those men were only patting each other on the shoulders, but he also knew that this was the way things were, this was how the machine of the State worked.

Occasionally, however, his gaze kept returning to the man who had spilled tea on his shirt. He discovered that his name was Valery Legasov, was a nuclear physicist, and during the meeting seemed to darken more and more: he was the only one who didn’t smile or applaud and, when the meeting was about to end, Boris knew that Legasov was about to explode, but didn’t know why. Later he would have taken him aside, diplomatically, away from indiscreet ears, and would have asked him the reason for his annoyance.

Anyway, he didn’t have time to do that, because Legasov slammed his palms on the table.

"No, we can't leave like this, we haven't dealt with a single problem about the nuclear energy in this country!"

Boris saw a woman, Khomyuk, another scientist, sigh heavily, while Velikhov, a colleague of Legasov, immediately tried to interrupt him, pointing out that, if during the meeting no one had talked about problems, it meant that the problems were minor and negligible.

Many heads nodded, in agreement with Velikhov.

"It's not true, and you know it well!" Legasov retorted, and suddenly Boris found himself unable to take his eyes off him: that's what Legasov had to have attracted his attention.

Openness.

Honesty beyond all limits imposed by the Soviet regime.

Courage, or perhaps madness, hidden behind the harmless appearance of a chubby face.

Absolutely sincere and purposeful eyes behind the thick lenses of his glasses.

Those blue eyes met Boris' for a moment, and the politician read a plea in them,  _ help me _ , and a silent question,  _ tell me that you are not like them _ .

The meeting had lasted for hours, everyone was tired and eager to go home, but, without understanding why, Boris felt that if he turned a blind eye or supported Velikhov, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

Someone had already started to get up to leave, but Boris raised a hand and nodded at Valery.

"Let’s listen."

It was like a dam that breaks: Valery started talking about obsolete reactors, radiation leaks, plants built with poor materials, but he seemed the only one to support that thesis, all the other scientists continued to minimize.

Was he only a mythomaniac, a rebel?

No, there was too much honesty in his eyes, a honesty that Boris didn’t find in the eyes of the other participants in the meeting.

But his lack of diplomacy was certainly chilling.

_ "You're a troublemaker, aren't you, Valery?" _ Boris thought, then looked at his watch: in less than half an hour the final meeting would begin, the one with Gorbachev, and he must have been there.

"Very well, thank you for your report, Professor Legasov," said Boris, thus decreeing the end of that meeting.

Everyone left the room, relieved; only Valery sat still, looking at Boris with his mouth open, the indignation that was making his eyebrow tremble, while the politician collected his notes neatly and calmly.

_ "You would be a bad, bad party man, Valery, I can read your emotions on your face so easily." _

"That's all?" Legasov finally spat, "You made me talk and then... What is it, you just wanted me to humiliate myself in front of my colleagues? And where are you going now?" he asked, seeing that Boris had got up.

"I’m going to General Secretary Gorbachev to talk about your concerns for the shape of our nuclear power plants, Professor," Boris replied calmly, leaving a stunned Valery alone.

The professor remained seated, stupidly blinking in disbelief, until a secretary came to tell him that he had to leave the building.

Valery went home and took a hot shower, trying to put his emotions in order: when he exploded, saying what no one wanted to hear, he was sure that he wouldn't be listened to, it never happened. He didn't know why he had looked at Shcherbina: after the tea incident there was no reason for the politician to listen to him, but he did. And he didn’t simply write down Valery's complaints, he had gone to report them to the central committee!

Relaxed, under the jet of hot water, he began to touch himself and went back to the vision of Boris Shcherbina, shirtless in front of the bathroom mirror.

That man had affected him badly, setting his fantasies on fire.

The image that took shape in his mind saw Boris grab him by the shoulders and force him on his knees.

_ "An apology for spilling tea on me isn’t enough, Legasov," said Boris' rough voice, and Valery moaned, face buried in his groin, breathing the strong masculine smell of his cock, and when Boris lowered the zipper of the trousers... _

… Valery came with a cry, his toes curled on the cold bathroom tiles, delicious shivers running down his spine.

He was sure he would never see Boris Shcherbina again: a politician and a nuclear physicist had no reason to cross their paths, therefore Valery would have had to be happy with his hands and his fantasies.

Perhaps because the memory was still so fresh in his mind, Valery tossed off again twice that night thinking of Boris, lost in increasingly dirty fantasies, and the following morning he was worn out.

For this reason he hardly heard the bell ringing insistently.

He looked at the alarm clock, annoyed: who the hell bothered him at half past seven in the morning?

He opened the door without even asking who was there, and found himself facing a towering and already pristine Boris Shcherbina.

Valery blinked slowly and wondered for a moment if he was stuck in one of his fantasies, but when Boris looked around disapproving of the mess of his apartment instead of bending him on the table and eating his ass, he realized it was reality.

"Take a shower, we’re leaving in an hour," Boris said simply.

"Uh? Leaving? Where are we going?”

"After I told him about your concerns, General Secretary Gorbachev assigned us the task to write a report on some of our nuclear power plants," Boris peered down the hallway, finding out where the bathroom was located and pushed Valery in that direction, "Like I said, we're leaving in an hour, we'll have breakfast on the plane."

As Valery closed the bathroom door behind him, still in disbelief at the turn taken by the events, he said to himself that he was deeply in trouble: he would have been travelling for who knows how long with his current erotic obsession.

It could end very badly.

Or very well, according to his cock that, regardless of Valery's concerns, showed all his enthusiasm at the idea of working close to Boris Shcherbina.

In the meantime, the politician had packed a suitcase for Valery, putting together his best suits (or the least worst, in his opinion), but good heavens, the professor didn’t have the slightest taste in dressing.

One day he would have taken Valery to his tailor, and gifted him with one or two tailored suits and some brightly coloured silk ties. Valery would have looked in the mirror, intimidated but happy, and would have smiled at him...

Boris frowned, confused: what the hell was he thinking? Legasov was a colleague in that mission that had been entrusted to him, certainly not a... a kind of boyfriend! He didn't like men, so why did his thoughts have such a strange drift?

He shook his head, hearing Legasov turn off the shower tap, and went to wait for him in the sitting room, cluttered with books and odds and ends of all kinds.

His apartment wasn't like that, it was perfectly tidy, always, so where did his fascination with this man come from?

A meow caught his attention, and Boris bent over to pick up a beautiful kitten in his arms. Valery found him like that when he joined him.

"Do you have anyone to take care of her while we're away?" Boris asked with sincere interest, “Otherwise I can ask my secretary to keep her. She is a good woman, I assure you that she will treat her well."

_ "Oh please don't be so kind," _ Valery thought: it was already difficult enough for him to keep his erotic fantasies at bay, without going so far as to imagine the sweetest side of Boris. Seeing this imposing and severe man petting his kitten made his heart do strange somersaults.

"I'll leave her with a neighbour, who already keeps her when I'm out of Moscow for work, but thank you."

The inspection of the nuclear power plants started from Kola.

Soon Boris had the opportunity to admire Valery's deep dedication to his work and his sincere concern for the safety of the plants, but he also had the chance to see his profound ingenuity and how much he lived in his own world: Valery fiercely criticized everybody, causing more than a grumble of protest from the directors of the plants, and also a few irritated phone calls from Moscow.

Boris took upon himself the task of shielding Valery from politics, of mediating between him and the rest of the world, as those strange feelings of esteem and protection towards him grew out of all proportion, and he just couldn’t stop them.

Valery's mind worked like watertight compartments, luckily for him, and this allowed him to work alongside Boris without having to manage sudden and embarrassing erections and without his mind wandering towards decidedly racy thoughts.

When Valery worked, he worked and nothing could distract him.

But when he returned to the hotel in the evening and threw himself on the bed, he couldn’t prevent his imagination from running free, from thinking about the spicy smell of Boris’ aftershave, his bull neck, his deep voice, and he brought himself to orgasm so quickly he was almost embarrassed.

On the last evening of stay in Kola, with their report already sent to Moscow, Boris and Valery were having a relaxed dinner in the hotel restaurant, finalizing the last details of the work to be done in Leningrad.

At one point Valery noticed that the gravy sauce cup was very close to Boris, and the most malicious part of him had a naughty idea.

It had been too long since he had seen Boris shirtless, wouldn't it have been wonderful to be able to be see him again?

The first time, with tea, it was an accident.

This time, when Valery hit the sauce cup, spilling it on Boris' shirt, it was a completely deliberate act.

"Dammit, Valerka!"

"I'm sorry, I'm immensely sorry, Boris."

"You’re a walking disaster."

His natural clumsiness helped him, and the Ukrainian didn’t suspect anything.

"I have a stain remover in my suitcase: if we clean it immediately, the stain will go away."

"Okay then."

And so, under the violent neon light of the ensuite of Valery's room, in that confined space, Boris took off his shirt to remove the stain, giving him the opportunity to breathe his smell and look closely at every muscle and mole on his skin.

Valery could barely wish him goodnight and close the door behind him, before undoing his trousers and tossing off frantically, coming three times, two fingers inside himself, imagining that it was Boris' cock.

In Leningrad the situation of the nuclear power plant was worse than that of Kola: the spent nuclear fuel wasn’t stored correctly and therefore there was a residual radioactivity around the plant. Not alarming, but certainly not healthy.

Valery ordered that he and Boris often change clothes because they could be contaminated, and for the first time he also saw his wide and still muscular thighs.

He blushed so violently that Boris asked him if the radiation had caused him a fever.

Over time, the confidence between them also grew. In the evenings, after work, they found themselves drinking a glass of vodka together, while Valery smoked a cigarette; sometimes they walked along the streets of the city and talked about their lives, how Boris had started to make a career in the party and how Valery had become interested in nuclear physics. With inhibitions lowered by alcohol, they walked close together, their arms brushing, their smiles relaxed and sincere.

Sometimes Valery stumbled on the rough pavement and Boris grumbled at his awkwardness, but he was always ready to offer him his arm so that he wouldn't fall.

In Smolensk the review was faster, because the power plant staff worked well.

Valery was very relaxed on the last night there. He and Boris were in his hotel room, sitting comfortably on a sofa, their socketed feet resting on the coffee table.

Valery was thinking that perhaps, perhaps accidentally, he could rest his head on Boris' shoulder and close his eyes, pretending to doze off, only to test the waters, shyly, carefully, because Boris never seemed to reject his closeness.

Valery was getting more and more in troubles, because alongside the plethora of sexual fantasies about Boris, he was developing some decidedly more dangerous ones, in which their relationship didn’t end after that mission, but went on, and he spent his evenings no longer alone with his cat, but enveloped in Boris’ arms, who massaged his shoulders and gently kissed his neck, revealing that sweet and protective side, so well hidden behind his intimidating appearance.

Definitely dangerous thoughts, Valery told himself, looking up at the Ukrainian's beautiful face.

"What's up?" Boris asked.

"Nothing," Valery lied. "What time does our flight leave tomorrow?"

Boris maneuvered to take the wallet from his trouser pocket and took out a note, moving it away from his face to read better.

Involuntarily, Valery looked into his wallet and saw a photograph: it portrayed a young Boris and a woman. They were kissing under a blooming wisteria tree.

Valery gasped and Boris followed his gaze.

"Who is her?" Valery asked, without being able to stop: it wasn’t his business, it was a private matter and he had no right to ask him questions; but Boris' eyes softened as he replied, "It's Olga, my wife."

"But you don't wear any rings... sorry, I'm nosy..."

"No, don't worry. I no longer wear a ring because Olga is dead: I am a widower."

"I'm sorry," Valery said, "can I ask you how it happened?"

"A brief illness took her away over twenty years ago."

Yet Boris still jealously kept a photo in his wallet and carried it everywhere.

A gentleman with a golden heart, that's who was the man Valery was fantasizing about every night.

Suddenly Valery was very ashamed of it.

"I also have a daughter," Boris added, showing him another photo.

"What a lovely girl."

“Her name is Svetlana and now she lives in Sweden with her husband. And you?" he asked after a short pause.

"What about me?"

"Do you have anyone other than your cat?"

"No, I just have my job, because I only want impossible things," Valery murmured, looking at his hands and getting up.

"What?"

“Nothing, it's late. Goodnight, Boris."

"Ah... goodnight, Valera."

Boris stared at the closed door, confused. What had just happened? Suddenly the atmosphere between them had become tense and he couldn’t understand why.

Valery let himself fall on the bed, hiding his face in his hands: he had let himself be lulled by the idea that Boris could somehow feel something for him, he even went so far as to imagine living with him, while the statesman was still devoted to the memory of his deceased wife.

He was only hurting himself with those fantasies that would never come true. He had to stop.

Ever since they arrived in Chernobyl, Valery has been distant.

Initially Boris blamed the situation they had found at the plant, that was managed in a frighteningly superficial way. Even he, who knew nothing about nuclear power plants, was horrified about their fails in the safety department.

But it wasn't just that: Valery looked... sad, almost melancholy when he spoke to him, and didn't look him in the eye anymore.

Boris kept wondering if he had done or said something that could have hurt him, but he was groping in the dark; he only knew that he missed Valery's shy laughter, looking at those beautiful blue eyes, chatting with him.

Besides, that was the last plant they inspected, then they would go back to Moscow, to their lives, and he didn't know if he would see Valery again.

He had to do something while he was still on time, and gave a beautiful gift to Valery. There were many shops in Pripyat, surely he would find something suitable to show him his friendship, to make him smile again, and...

... and what else? He wondered, bringing a hand on his heart.

He had no answer.

One day, Valery was walking along a corridor of the reactor building 4 with some engineers, when the dosimeter he wore attached to the belt of his trousers beeped.

1 milliroentgen. Nothing too serious, but it shouldn’t happen.

"Sometimes it happens," one of the engineers confirmed.

"Sometimes?" Valery repeated, shocked, "And what are you waiting for to do something about it, that the situation gets worse?"

"But Comrade Fomin said..."

"I don't care!" Valery interrupted him and, dosimeter in hand, he walked along a side corridor: the low flow of radiation remained constant, then rose to 3 milliroentgen and then to 4 in front of a heavy metal door. Perhaps it was condensation in the pipes of the feedwater. Anyway, he had to make sure it was nothing more serious.

He went back to the staff locker room, put on an anti-radiation suit and told one of the engineers to evacuate the unnecessary personnel until he found out where the radiation was coming from.

Boris was scolding the plant manager for the mismanagement when a man came to report Valery's words to them.

"And where is Professor Legasov?"

"He said he'll look for the source of the radiation."

"What? No!" Boris thundered.

He asked where Valery was and ran to reach him, but he only had time to see Valery, in a huge yellow anti-radiation suit, as he was about to close a door.

"Valery!" he shouted, feeling the ground crumble under his feet.

It seemed to him that Valery smiled, through the thick viewer of the suit, then the door closed and was locked from the inside.

It took all the strength of Yuvchenko, a big boy with less than half Boris’ years to drag him away.

Valery wandered through a labyrinth of piped corridors, following the radiation that slowly increased until it reached 8 milliroentgen, and finally found the leak: as he suspected, it was the junction of a water pipe, corroded by moisture. Once replaced it would be all right.

He emerged from the door, explained the problem to one of the technicians who was waiting for him, then took off the yellow suit and went to take a decontaminating shower. He hadn't been subjected to a very high level of radiation, but he preferred to be cautious.

He was soaping his hair, with his eyes closed, when he heard the bathroom door open and close. He thought it was the doctor, caming to check on him.

"I'm almost done," he said, "Who...?"

Suddenly he found himself wrapped in a bear, almost suffocating hug; he opened his eyes abruptly, finding himself a few centimeters from Boris' head, leaning against his shoulder.

The man had thrown himself under the jet of water as he was, still wearing his elegant suit and his patent leather shoes, now irreparably ruined.

"Valera... what have you done? Why?" he whispered, and Valery felt he was shaking.

"Oh Boris... calm down, the radiation level was very low, nothing will happen to me."

"When I saw you disappear behind that door, I..." If possible, Boris held him even tighter.

"It's all right," Valery repeated, in an attempt to calm him down, but Boris shook his head.

"No, you don't understand. I thought I would lose you and I..." he lifted his head from his shoulder, and for the first time since Valery knew him, he saw him lost, confused.

The water flowed on his face, but Boris' eyes were red, he could have cried a little.

"Valera, I..." Boris tried again, but he was unable to articulate his emotions. His gaze lingered on Valery's lips and he licked his own, but his forehead wrinkled slightly, as if he didn't know what to do with the thoughts that were going through his mind.

But Valery understood exactly the bewilderment Boris was feeling, a man firmly and strictly heterosexual up to that moment, faced with an alien desire; he took courage, raised a hand and placed it on Boris' neck, pulling him gently to himself.

"Valera, I don't know..."

"Hush, don't think. Just feel,” Valery murmured, then joined their lips in a sweet and chaste kiss; it was Boris who sighed on his lips and touched them timidly with the tip of his tongue. Valery opened his mouth, let himself be invaded and conquered, while Boris crushed him against the cold tiles of the bathroom, making him groan.

He didn't care that someone could come in and see them, his erotic dream was holding him in his arms and kissing him, the whole world could go to hell.

When Boris broke away, he leaned his forehead against Valery's and stood with his eyes closed.

"Hey, are you okay?" Valery asked, and Boris nodded slowly, opening his eyes again.

"I... yes," he stroked his cheek, looking him in the eye, "I wanted it. As I waited for you to come out of that damned door, I realized that I had longed for it."

"Did you want to kiss me? To understand what it feels like?"

“No, not only that. I think I like you a lot,” Boris confessed, and Valery's heart began to beat fast, very fast, because this dangerously resembled his fantasies.

He had been smitten with Boris, but he had also been consciously gay for decades, he knew his feelings; instead to Boris this was an unknown land, no, a whole unknown planet, and it could end very badly and very painfully, if he rushed now, if he threw himself into a relationship with Boris and then the statesman pulled back because he couldn't accept being with a man.

Slowly, almost as if he were facing a wild animal that could run away at the slightest abrupt movement, he took one of Boris' hands between his, placed it on his chest, dusted with reddish hair, and slid it down.

"I like you very much, Borja, too, from the first moment I spilled tea on you, but if you want a relationship with me, you must be aware that you take the whole package."

Their joined hands reached Valery's genitals; Boris looked down, as if he were seeing another man's cock for the first time.

He expected to feel bewilderment, disgust, or at least astonishment, but those feelings weren’t there. He slowly cupped his hand and Valery swelled under his fingers, making him feel incredibly powerful.

"Not here," the professor sighed, turning off the water.

Only then Boris remembered that they were in the bathrooms of a nuclear power plant.

"Think about it," Valery said again, kissing him on the cheek one last time, "And then, you know the number of my hotel room."

Valery left the showers and went to the doctor to be visited, while Boris got rid of his wet clothes and asked for military fatigues to be brought to him.

He still felt the weight of Valery's genitals on his hand, felt the euphoria flowing inside his veins and no, the fact that Valery was a man didn’t upset him as it should have.

But who decided what was to upset him and what not? It was only his business.

It wasn't a transient itch or a late midlife crisis that pushed him to try something forbidden. After the death of his wife he had had some fleeting adventures, some one-night stands (he was a man with healthy sexual appetites), but with Valery it was different, there was more: there was the desire to see him every day, when he left the room and met him at the hotel bar for breakfast, there was the desire to hear his voice, to listen to him talk about nuclear physics even if he didn’t understand anything, there was the desire to look him in the eyes, to open his ones in the morning and know Valery was there.

And Boris knew exactly what to do.

Valery had returned to the hotel; he was pacing his bedroom nervously and smoking too much.

He hoped he hadn't shocked Boris or given him too drastic an ultimatum.

He was about to light another cigarette when he heard a knock. He left it on the table and ran to open: Boris had changed again and was more elegant than ever.

"Hi," Valera greeted him, with a slightly stupid smile on his face.

"Valera, would you do me the honor of dining with me?"

It wasn't what Valery expected, but he nodded and followed Boris; instead of going down to the hotel restaurant, Boris put a hand on his back and pushed him towards his room.

"Room service?"

“I thought it would be more intimate. If we had been in Moscow, I would have invited you to my apartment."

Boris opened the door to let him pass, and Valery could only gape: Boris had had everything for a dinner and a romantic evening brought in: there were candles on the table and on the window sill, and rose petals scattered on the floor and on the bed; a portable radio transmitted classical music.

A full-fledged courtship.

Valery smiled and lowered his eyes, blushing: someone would have found that exaggerated and decidedly out of fashion, especially for two adult men, but he thought that Boris had been very sweet.

"Thank you Borja, nobody has ever done this for me, it's beautiful."

Boris' chest swelled with pride: he had some doubts because he had no idea how to woo a man, but he had hit the target!

During dinner, the atmosphere remained relaxed, the two men spoke as usual, until Valery took courage and confessed that, after the first time, he had sought every excuse to see him undressed.

It was Boris' turn to blush uncontrollably.

"I think I have a huge crush on you," Valery murmured, "does it upset you?"

Boris poured him another glass of champagne and shook his head: "I didn't think you were so cunning, but I'm flattered."

It was pleasant, at his age, to still feel desired. Flirting, want, passion… he thought it was behind him, by now. And yet Valery wanted him with incandescent intensity.

It made him feel alive.

Valery eyed the rose petals scattered on the bed: just thinking about being on it with Boris made his cock leak into his underwear, but he tried to control himself.

"Thanks for dinner, Boris, it was beautiful, but if you want to go slowly and stop here for tonight, I can go back to my room."

"Do you want to stop?"

"No," Valery replied sincerely, exhaling a tremulous giggle. He wanted Boris, he wanted him so much that he was vibrating.

"Me neither." Boris took his hand across the table, stood up, hugged Valery and kissed him as he had done under the shower, exploring his mouth; Boris’ hands, first gentle on his face, then more and more impatient and daring, touched Valery over the clothes.

The professor got rid of his jacket, but when he hooked his fingers under the suspenders, Boris shook his head slightly.

"I want to do it."

Valery relaxed his arms along his sides as far as he could, and let himself be undressed reverently by Boris.

"You are beautiful," Boris murmured, after taking off his vest.

"You don't need to coax me."

"No, I really think so," he touched Valery on his shoulder, "All these freckles... beautiful..." he repeated, before bending down to kiss them.

He laid Valery on the bed and slowly undressed in front of him, while Valery savored every detail of his body, and when Boris kicked off his underwear, he didn’t hold back an obscene moan: Boris was big, exactly as he thought, and he was impatient to have that cock inside of him, to feel the burn and the stretch as Boris penetrated him.

Valery's erection had left a small pool of fluids on his belly and, when he saw it, Boris' gaze darkened with desire.

In a flash he was on Valery, and the two rolled between the sheets, their hands groping and squeezing soft flesh, a delicious friction between their legs as their erections slid and rub one on another, but to Valery it wasn’t enough: weeks of erotic fantasies about Boris made his balls ache with want.

"I want you," he confessed breathlessly into his ear, "Take me, Boris."

The Ukrainian, engaged in a meticulous exploration of his neck, raised himself on his elbows with a slightly lost face.

"I want you too, but how...?"

His cheeks and lips were red, and his hair, usually perfectly combed, was disheveled.

Valery thought he was incredibly cute, but kept that thought to himself.

He took Boris’ hand, guided it past his hard erection, the swollen testicles, to his hole that fluttered when Boris's forefinger brushed against it.

"Like that."

"But... but it's tight, and I'm..."

"Huge, yes," Valery grabbed his erection, making Boris jump and moan, "But I can take you, trust me."

An unpleasant thorn of jealousy stung Boris' heart when he realized that Valery had to have some degree of experience to speak like that, but when Valery caught his lips again in a searing kiss, he forgot about it.

"We only need some lubricant," Valery said: he had vaseline in his room, but he had no intention of leaving that bed, not even for a moment, then his gaze ran to the table and he sighed with relief, "The oil will be fine."

He explained to Boris how to prepare him, smiled with his face hidden against Boris’ neck for his extreme gentleness, moaned and arched his back when Boris' fingers finally penetrated him and started sliding in and out

“Oh yes, like that, like that… hm…”

Boris swore under his breath: he had never been so turned on in his life, he was almost lightheaded, seeing Valery so pliant under him.

"Bend your fingers... OH... OOH!"

Valery's body jumped, like he had been struck by a lightning, and he tightened around Boris’ fingers.

Boris panted and swore again, feeling himself growing impossibly hard: just thinking about Valery around his cock instead of his fingers was about to make him come on the sheets like a teenager.

"Valera..."

"Yes, yes, I'm ready!"

Boris oiled his erection, positioned himself and pushed in: a part of him still thought that it wasn’t possible, that he was too big, but then Valery pushed down and engulfed his glans.

"Fuck..." Boris cried: it was glorious, beyond his wildest imagination, Valery was warm and wonderfully tight, soft silk around him, and every time the tip of his cock dragged against Valery's prostate, the professor clamped down, making him see the stars beyond his closed eyes.

"Faster Boris, harder!" Valery shouted, clawing his back.

Boris no longer controlled himself after that: he lifted Valery's legs on his back with a possessive snarl, sank his fingers into the excess of flesh of his sides, and rocked his hips in a frantic pace, chasing the orgasm, delirious with pleasure.

Valery grabbed his erection, pumping it, and threw his head back on the pillow when he reached his peak, staining his stomach and chest with ropes of pearly fluids, clamping down on Boris even harder.

Boris whispered, "Shit, Valera..." then froze and came, came, came, emptying himself inside Valery; he came so much that he feared he would never stop.

When he lowered Valery's legs and slipped out of him, his cock made an obscene wet sound, but Valery moaned delightedly, stroking the back of his neck.

"Good?" Boris asked, kissing his forehead.

"Boris Evdokimovich, are you fishing for compliments?"

"I just wanted to know if you liked it."

"I liked it," Valery reassured him, "And you?"

"Yes, yes I did."

"Even if I'm a man?"

"You're Valera," Boris said, kissing him, "it's the only thing that matters to me."

Valery put a finger on his lips and smiled with such tenderness that Boris was embarrassed by it.

"What?"

"You’re a romantic man, Borja."

Boris shrugged, still blushing, then he got up, went to the bathroom to clean himself up, and came back with a damp towel to clean Valery too, gently passing it over his reddened hole.

"Does it hurt?"

"I'm quite sore."

"I'm sorry."

"No, don’t be, this is my favourite part."

Boris frowned and Valery smiled fondly: he had a lot to teach him about gay sex. And luckily, it seemed like he had plenty of time to do it.

Boris took the towel back to the bathroom, then hugged Valery, holding him close and kissing his sweaty hair.

"I love you," he murmured softly, stroking his shoulder, "Maybe it's not the best time to say it, you'll think it's just endorphins, but..."

Valery lifted, kissing him soundly on the lips.

"I love you too," he said, before settling on Boris’ shoulder for the night.

"Oh... okay, then."

The next morning, when Valery opened his eyes, Boris was sitting cross-legged on the bed, looking at him almost impatiently.

"Valery, are you awake?"

"Mrgh... just give me a second... what is it?"

"Marry me!" Boris said point-blank, and Valery's eyes widened. Suddenly he was completely awake.

"What…? But, Boris..."

“Yes, yes, I know that we can't really get married in the Soviet Union, but I thought about it all night and we could live together, as soon as we finish this mission and go back to Moscow. I love you and I want to be with you: marry me, Valera!"

Valery smiled incredulously: Boris was even crazier than his fantasies; he threw his arms around his neck and dragged him onto the bed with himself.

"My big, mad Ukrainian."

"Mad? Me? You are the one who spilled sauce on me to see me naked!"

"Okay," Valery said, taking his face in his hands, "let's do it."

*

"My big, mad Ukrainian," Valery recalls fondly, ruffling his hair.

"Ready to celebrate our anniversary?"

"Always."

And then Valery's laughter turns into a labored sigh as Boris slides down under the covers.


	7. Semi-public sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Direct sequel to story #4 "Caught".  
Valery is thrilled by the idea of having sex in public, Boris much less. But maybe he just needs the right opportunity.

Boris is cooking dinner when he hears the door open.

"Svetusha, darling, is that you?"

"Yes dad, I'm home."

"Very well, dinner is almost ready," Boris tells her without turning around, "You can tell your husband he can set the table."

"For four, right?"

Boris frowns: "No, why should he..."

A delicate cough makes him turn around: next to Svetlana there is a reddish-haired scientist, his chubby face sporting an expression halfway between guilty and amused.

His daughter knows it.

She somehow found out that he and Valery are together.

And Boris, who more than once has been able to improvise a political speech in front of an audience, has no idea what to say.

“I’m shocked by you, dad! How could you?" his daughter begins, and Boris swallows loudly: Svetlana looks angry.

She doesn't approve, right?

Yes, she doesn't approve him being with a man... what does she want to do, is she going to ask him to choose between them?

Valery, in front of Boris' anguished expression, can't resist and puts a hand on the girl's shoulder.

"Svetlana, please, you're seriously scaring him."

The girl snorts and then smiles: "You are lucky that Valery has such a golden heart, I would have kept you on your toes for much longer."

"What?"

“It's alright, dad, I was joking. I am happy for you." Svetlana reaches out and hugs him.

"Really?"

"Really dad."

"Then why did you frighten me like that?" Boris thunders, and Svetlana puts her hands on her hips: “Ah! Do you have the guts to ask me? When I was a teen I hadn’t any privacy, you wanted to know everything about my friends, and now I find that you have been living with Valery for over a year, and you haven't told me anything!"

"It's completely different: I'm your father, I had a duty to protect you."

"Oh please, just say that you wanted to scare my boyfriends."

"I just checked that they weren't crooks."

"No boy was good enough for you!"

"And I was right!"

The atmosphere between father and daughter has definitely warmed up. Valery wonders if he should say something to placate them, but Alexander pulls him aside: apparently it’s not the first time it happens and there is nothing to worry about.

In fact, a few minutes later the two made peace.

Valery slips his arms around Boris' waist and rests his head on his shoulder: "I’m very happy that now your daughter know about us, so I can go back to sleep in our bed."

"Er... the... the garbage!" Boris stutters, agitated, gently pulling aside Valery's arms, "I haven't thrown it away since last night, I really should go!"

He takes the plastic bucket and rushes down the stairs, while Valery frowns: why is he still behaving like this? By now Svetlana and Alexander know about them.

“This is another typical trait of dad, Valery,” Svetlana warns, leaning on the refrigerator with her arms folded, “He has always been extremely private about a certain kind of demonstrations of affection. He behaved like this also with mom: he hugged her, held her hand and offered her arm like a real gentleman, but he hardly kissed her at the presence of other people. He didn't even want to do it in front of me, but that was because he was terrified that I found out too soon what sex was."

Yes, Valery remembers well how Boris reacted, the first time he confessed to him his fantasy of having sex in his office: discretion is the word with him.

"So, please don't think he's ashamed of you," Svetlana continues, "it's just that for him certain activities should only be done behind a well-closed door."

"I understand. Then I will avoid giving him a heart attack by trying to kiss him in front of you."

Valery, instead, has a kink about having sex in a public place: the thrill of being discovered, of doing something outrageous while other people around him, unaware, are engaged in their daily activities, turns him on.

It's a shame that Boris is so reluctant to try, Valery is certain that in the end he would appreciate it, but given how he reacted to a simple hug in front of his daughter and son-in-law, it will take time.

Valery, however, is stubborn, as much and perhaps more than Boris, and doesn’t give up on addressing the topic.

When they go to sleep that evening, Boris immediately turns off the light and turns on his side, but Valery crawls near him, stroking his back.

"Boris, can you relax, please?"

"I'm relaxed," he blurts, but it's not true: his shoulders are terribly stiff.

Valery slips a hand over his chest, but Boris blocks it.

"Svetlana and Alexander will leave the day after tomorrow, can't you wait?"

"Boris, we are in our bedroom."

"Lower your voice!"

“I'm already whispering, our door is closed, the door to their room is closed, they would never hear us. I mean," Valery continues, putting one leg on top of Boris', "I'm not asking you to go and have sex in the living room or on the kitchen table, where we could be discovered."

In that position Boris feels the unmistakable pressure of Valery's erection on his buttocks.

"Are you hard just talking about it?"

"Yes. I already told you, remember? The risk of being caught is the most exciting part of the game for me."

"But it would be terribly embarrassing if it happened for real."

"I know."

"Then why you like it?" Boris asks, turning to him.

"Because they teach us from an early age that sex is something private, doing it in public would violate many social norms, but it also means that I want you so badly that I can't control myself and I don't care about social rules or the humiliation of being caught in the act."

"Hm..." Boris turns on his back and rests his hands on his belly, reflecting on Valery's words.

"Here, now you know why the idea make me hard. Goodnight, Borja."

"Uh, do you want to sleep? But I thought that..."

Valery extends a hand between his legs to grab his flaccid penis.

"We only do it if you like the idea: I don't enjoy it, if you don't enjoy it too."

"We will make up for lost time when Svetlana and her husband are gone, I promise."

"I'm counting on it."

A few months later, Svetlana invites them to Sweden: Boris hasn't seen his grandchild for a long time, and the girl also wants Valery to know her husband's family.

After checking their agendas, Boris and Valery manage to find four free days among their respective commitments.

Valery is a little anxious about the gathering: his family was small, he has been alone for many years, he isn’t used to big crowds, besides he isn’t very sociable.

In addition, there is the problem of the language.

He hasn’t been able to find a Russian-Swedish tourist dictionary, and he doubts that Alexander's family speaks their language.

"Well, how are we going to do?"

Boris doesn't seem worried.

"It will be fine, Svetusha will act as interpreter."

"Yes, but we can't bother her all day long."

"Valery, it's a family reunion, not a meeting between prime ministers, you won't trigger a diplomatic incident if you use the wrong word asking for the bread."

Alexander picks them up at the airport; the journey by car takes about an hour and, when they arrive in the village where Alexander and Svetlana live, Valery believes that the town festival is underway, or that there is some other local holiday because, in the courtyard in front of a group of houses, at least fifty people are gathered.

"Here, my family," Alexander says.

"W... what? But... all of them? " Valery stutters.

"OLEGUSHKA!" Boris shouts as soon as he sees his grandson. He doesn’t even wait for the car to stop completely before going down and running towards the child.

"Are you happy to see your grandfather?" he asks, lifting him over his head and making the airplane.

Oleg laughs like crazy, and Valery, standing on the sidelines, smiles sweetly looking at the scene: the rigid Soviet bureaucrat has a golden heart, especially with children.

"Dad! Did you have a good trip?" Svetlana joins him and hugs him, then sees Valery still near the car, “Valery, come on. He is Oleg, my son," so saying she puts the toddler in his arms, "Be careful though, lately he is very attracted to glasses, he has already broken his aunt's pair."

In fact, Oleg immediately extends his little hands towards the thick glasses of the professor who, clumsily, doesn’t know what to do with that miniature human in his arms: he has never been very good with children and toddlers.

Boris chuckles amused, then, moved to pity, takes his nephew back, carrying him on the shoulders, and goes to greet his in-laws and all the other relatives.

Alexander in fact has numerous brothers, sisters and cousins; some live in nearby houses, others have come for the occasion, and everyone is here with relatives and children.

Valery has never seen such an extended family, and wonders how they will organize themselves to eat and use the bathroom, or where they will sleep, but they all seem used to sharing spaces and enduring some discomfort, as if they were camping.

Boris was right however, even if they don't speak the same language, understanding each other with gestures is quite easy, and Svetlana comes to his rescue when he’s out of his deeps.

Boris has a lot of fun in those days: he gets on very well with Alexander’s father, with whom he plays drinking games, and cards, he plays with his nephew and the other toddlers, while Valery, while he appreciates having been welcomed as one of family, like he wished, keeps himself more apart. He never enjoyed too much noisy companies, not even when he was young.

On the last evening, while a party is going on, Valery goes out into the courtyard to smoke a cigarette and enjoy a few minutes of solitude.

"This is too much for you, isn't it?" Boris' voice asks behind him, while Valery throws the butt on the ground and puts it out with the tip of the shoe.

"I'm a little dazed," he admits, "but I'm getting used to it. And I'm glad you spent some time with your daughter and Oleg."

"Thanks, I know it's not easy."

Valery shrugs, but Boris puts a hand on his shoulder to push him into the shadow of a large tree, then looks around furtively, while Valery tries not to laugh, and leans over him to kiss him quickly on the lips. When he straightens up, he looks around again to check that no one is there.

That kiss, however, was a serious mistake: given the overcrowding in Svetlana's house, Valery diligently put his fantasies aside, as long as they’re there, but now he can't help thinking about it.

"If it were up to me, I'd already be on my knees in front of you." 

Valery touches the zipper of Boris' trousers with his finger, and the statesman grabs his wrist to stop him, but he is less determined than what Valery would expect: perhaps is he changing his mind about public sex?

"Valera..." Boris warns.

"Wouldn’t you like it? My mouth…"

Someone opens the front door to go out to smoke, and Boris takes a step back, but Valery doesn’t miss the fact that Boris is walking stiffly: oh yes, he’s interested, and Valery has a special evening in mind.

That evening, Valery patiently waits for everyone in the room to fall asleep: as there are many guests, Boris and Valery have to share the bedroom with two of Alexander's brothers and an uncle, who sleep on camping cots.

Boris also fell asleep, but Valery doesn't take long to wake him up, kissing him on the neck and shoulder.

Boris stirs, but when he's fully awake, he turns around and stops him.

"Valery, we can't do anything, there are other people here!" he whispers in his ear, alarmed.

"They’re sleeping."

"What if they wake up?"

"Then we have to be very quiet," Valery ruts on him, making him feel how hard he is.

Boris hisses a curse, and then: "You can't be silent."

“I’ll be, I promise. Use your hand, come on, I need it."

Boris swears again, brutally, but in the end his hand slips under the elastic of the pants of Valery's pajamas, whose body stiffens in delight: convincing Boris to have sex in public is as exciting as feeling his hand on himself.

Boris moves it slowly, careful not to make the bed springs squeak, he bares Valery's glans and moves his thumb to spread the precum and make the friction of his fingers sweeter.

Valery breathes heavily and occasionally hisses through his teeth when Boris' fingers press on the frenulum or tickle his balls.

"Hush..." Boris warns. In the end he succumbed to that madness, because he can never say no to Valery, because now that he is doing it, he understands that Valery is right, the thrill of being discovered is really exciting, but he stiffens in fear every time the other men in the room stop snoring or turn around in the sleep.

Besides, Valery has promised him to be silent, but he’s getting louder.

"Valera, shut up or I'll quit," Boris threatens, stopping his hand.

"It's not my fault," Valery gasps, "it's your hand, it drives me crazy... AH!"

A much too loud moan slips out of Valery's lips, and Boris places two fingers on his lips.

"What did I tell you?"

Valery glares at him, because it's not fair that Boris is so calm, and decides to shake his self-control a little; he opens his mouth and greedily sucks Boris’ fingers, mimicking with his tongue what he would do if he had his cock in his mouth, and finally also Boris moans subtly.

"Hush," Valery whispers, letting the fingers slide out of his mouth with a sly smile.

"You're such a minx," Boris growls and starts moving his hand faster.

"Hm..."

When Boris realizes that Valery is no longer able to be quiet, he captures his lips with his own to dampen his obscene sounds.

His fingers are now completely wet, a sign that Valery is close; he tightens his hand around him, moving it fast, just as Valery likes.

"I’m almost there... ah... Boris..." Valery whispers on his lips.

Suddenly one of Alexander's brothers begins to speak out loud, and the two lovers start, thinking they have been discovered. Boris is paralyzed with fear and humiliation, but Valery is still hard in his hand.

Alexander's brother continues to talk for a while, then turns on his side and goes back to sleep as if nothing had happened.

"What…?"

"I think I understand," Valery whispers, "he talks in his sleep."

"He scared me to death."

"I told you it was exciting." Valery pushes his hips against Boris' hand, undaunted, and Boris starts kissing and masturbating him again, until Valery comes into his hand, face pressed against his chest to stifle a moan.

"Now it’s your turn."

"Valera, no..."

Alexander's brother resumes mumbling something in his sleep, and Boris is afraid that he may really wake up, or wake the others, but Valery slips under the covers and lifts his pajama shirt.

"Now let's see how quiet you can be."

Boris should stop him, but when Valery takes him suddenly into his mouth, almost to the root, he knows that the battle is already lost. Valery was right: the desire and need for him are stronger than the fear of being discovered.

He puts a hand on the reddish hair, trying to guide the rhythm, to slow him down, but that’s not Valery’s plan, and a second later the professor is with his nose buried against Boris’ groin, and swallows.

Boris gasps loudly, and quickly covers his mouth with one hand so as not to be heard, but it’s an almost desperate undertaking, given the intensity with which Valery is sucking him, and when Valery massages his balls, Boris can’t stop a long whimper.

He wants to smother him with a pillow.

He wants to kiss him.

He loves him.

He can't resist him.

Valery resurfaces to breathe and then takes Boris in his mouth again, and maybe it’s the idea of doing something forbidden, in a room full of sleeping people, but Boris feels the pleasure growing, growing, growing and then exploding violently in Valery's waiting mouth, who tries in vain to swallow everything.

They are dirty, sweaty, Boris is still trying to catch his breath, when Alexander's uncle wakes up with a load yawn and gets up from his cot to go to the bathroom, scratching his head.

Boris stays perfectly still, pretending to sleep, and hopes that his back is big enough to shield Valery's unusual and unequivocal position in bed from sight.

His partner is shaken with laughter and this is a terrible thing, considering that he still has his mouth around Boris’ oversensitive cock.

Valery only emerges when Alexander's uncle has left the room, cleaning his chin with the sleeve of his pajamas.

"I should choke you!" Boris growls, but Valery just throws his arms around his neck and rests his head on Boris’ chest.

"Goodnight, my love."

The next morning, while the huge family is having breakfast, Valery approaches Boris, who is pouring himself a cup of coffee, and shakes the cup in front of him without saying a word.

Boris fills it, and accepts without hesitation the quick kiss that Valery places on his cheek.

Svetlana doesn’t miss the interaction, and later she takes Valery aside to ask how he managed to convince her father to change his mind about public displays of affection.

"Oh, I have my methods with him," Valery replies vaguely, adjusting his glasses on his nose.


End file.
